If I were to die today, it would be wrong to say I lost my life, for I have lived one.
Sunday. August 15, 2004. Sunrise. I’m floating on my back in the Mediterranean Sea, possibly the only awake person in Positano. I was born at dawn. May be why it’s my favorite time of day. Waves float onto my face and into my mouth.
The finest food of all.
I float some more. Hum a little more of that James Taylor song that’s been in my head this whole trip. But now, at last, the chatter in my head has ceased, and I can really hear the words of the song. Better than that, I can hear myself think. James knew. Julia knew. Alice Warden knew. Now I know. I am as young as I will ever be. I am never going to be any younger than I am this minute. This second. Oops. There goes another second. And there’s no way to stop that. I can go on whining. Or I can enjoy the passage of time. As always, a lack of alternatives clears the mind wonderfully.
Now the thing about time is that time isn’t real. It’s just your point of view… how does it feel for you?
Right now it feels like this: Getting older doesn’t mean you forfeit all the other ages you’ve been. If I were to die today, it would be wrong to say I lost my life, for I have lived one.