“Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t–you’re right.”

― Henry Ford

What do you know — I actually kept my word and posted on a Monday like I promised. As I sit here with watery eyes after yet another chalazion surgery (our best count says number six), I find myself reflecting on the joys of getting older. In my teens and twenties, whenever a baby boomer would tell me, “Just wait until you’re my age,” I’d roll my eyes and think, yeah, right. Now, hanging on to my 40s for dear life, I realize they weren’t so far off. These days I avoid anything spicy or tomato-based after 6:00 PM without a bottle of Zantac in reach, I’ve got two anti-inflammatory diet books on the shelf, readers scattered across the house and shop, and I rarely make it past halftime of an 8:00 PM kickoff without nodding off. The older I get, the more often I hear (and repeat) the same phrase: “It sure beats the alternative.”

Getting older isn’t always glamorous — the surgeries, the medications, the readers stashed everywhere — but there’s a strange comfort in it too. Each wrinkle, each early bedtime, each “can’t eat that anymore” moment is just proof that I’m still here, still moving, still part of the story. The aches and adjustments may not be fun, but they remind me of the life I’ve lived and the people I get to live it with. And honestly, that’s a joy worth holding on to.