I’m 61 years old. But I don’t feel old. My brain age is about 35 — you know, it’s the age where if you woke up but didn’t look at your body how old are you. I’m about 30-35 on any given day. Old enough to be very centered but young enough to have a zest for living and life. When I’m with young moms, I just kind of think I’m their age –then I realize I’m old enough to be their mother.
But age is so . . . meaningless. I adore living. I love seeing the sun rise and the sun set. I love holding hands and walking and eating ice cream. I love having big bold projects to change the world. And I love quietly folding the laundry. 
There’s just something so wonderful about being alive and being vitally engaged in every day. Age is just . . . experience.
I do love being in my 60’s –even though just saying that is pretty flabbergasting. There’s just a certain peace in this age. I’ve done so many things in my life–most importantly raising a family who I adore. But there’s just so much more to DO and to BE and to experience!!
I hit 100 things on my bucket list so I just added 100 more. I still have so much ahead of me – I want to ride an elephant, stick my toe in the Jordan River, sit quietly in the Garden of Gethsemane. There are babies’ lives to be saved, hearts to turn, families and children to protect. There are lakes to swim in and books to read and moments to hold with those I love.
Age is a glorious thing. I’ve loved every birthday I ever had.
And I will march forward–savoring every moment of every day–as I age. Both gracefully and clumsily. It’s all good.
I treasure every wrinkle, every age spot, every ache. It’s all good. It just adds to the tapestry of time on my body and my soul.
61 is wonderful.
62 will be even better.
Every day is a gift.