I just turned 50 earlier this month, and my brother who was 48, drank himself to death in February. My Dad is a severe alcoholic, would be homeless if he didn't live with his 90 year old mom. My youngest cat has lymphoma, I have cried more over my cat.
Last summer, I knew. I knew it was a golden age, and that I was living it, and that it was transient. I can't explain better than that. I spent more time outside into the late night than I ever have. I live well, nice property in the country. It is silent and peaceful at night.
The breeze, the birds chirping. Smell of cut grass and vitality. I stand on my porch and consider my place in it, how the quiet is immense and important, but only when you sit and appreciate it.
I happen to work in life insurance. I am very familiar with mortality tables. At 50, I know my time is more than half gone. Sure, I hold the faintest of hopes that science is going to move faster than my own mortality, but that's just wishful thinking. Life extension is in the grasp of humanity, but we don't quite have it yet.
I have to work in a few minutes. I'll have dinner tonight, and likely consider my place in the world during the evening. Then repeat. That's life and it's frightening. One day it just ends.