what will I do with the rest of my life?

I awoke in the middle of the night, my eyes full of tears and my heart beating rapidly. What could have provoked such a scare? I couldn’t remember anything happening during the day that would lead me down this path of anxiety. No bad dream.

This was not about the mid-life “dark wood ” that Dante had spoken of so eloquently. I had passed through that years ago and managed to find happiness in spite of having left the publishing world earlier than I wished.

Then it came to me. Recently I’d received a barrage of mail from Medicare. I was turning 65. What would I do with the rest of my life? I had already retired, but I felt the “earth move under my feet.” (I had always loved that album by Carole King. I played it over and over.)

Life was changing again before my very eyes. Friends told me that 65 wasn’t too bad. Perhaps the “new 50.” It didn’t feel like 50 to me. I put my bike helmet on and took a brisk ride on the boardwalk. I found I could still ride a bike , and sing, and meet friends and, most of all, “feel comfortable with the person that I had become.” I guess I had become 65 and all around me the other boomers were becoming 65 as well. We always did everything together.

One of my dear friends sent me a birthday card with a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson: ” What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” To me that summed up the best of turning 65 — no more trying to control what lies ahead. Just discovering who I am and accepting the answer.