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  • Writer's pictureRobert Adams

75th Birthdays

IT STARTLES ME that I’m heading to my seventy-fifth birthday this June. All my grandparents had departed planet Earth by this age. That is a sobering realization.

I seem to think I’m fifty-five years old as I wake up. It's just a passing first thought with perhaps a sprinkle of denial thrown in. It makes me smile as I begin my regular morning routine and move to mindfulness where I’m aware of my surroundings and so very thankful for where I have landed. A cup of coffee seems to help energize this evaluation.

I often take stock during these first flashes of my day reflecting that my two sons are happy and their fathering capabilities are impressive with five young boys between them. It makes me happy that they are very settled into their parenting roles. They are also good husbands. I’m very proud of them.

Recently, I’ve begun rereading my favorite writer’s tutorial The Right To Write by Julia Cameron. The book is fascinating and I get something new from the pages every time I pick it up. Her words make more sense to me simply because I live the life of a writer through my sketches and essays that I often kick start with one brief starting statement. She defines this as channeling - get your ego out of the way and let the spiritual housekeeper send you in the right direction. It opens the door to inspiration, creativity, and good writing.

This essay is evolving. I had no idea about its direction other than an early thought this morning had me recalling that there are chapters in our lives having referenced it recently to a friend who is uncoupling from an eleven-year relationship that ran its course. Cameron suggests that a person can get over the hurt feelings by writing about them. The action is cathartic. I like her suggestion to “lean into it.” There is magic in putting words down helping in one’s acceptance and allowing one to move to a new level of awareness and recovery.


Amid all these swirling thoughts, I emailed a grade school friend last night after I finished toddies and had enjoyed an evening cigar on my porch. My sunset contemplations led me to reach out and check on her after a decade of our drifting apart. After her encouraging words to my written inquiry, I wrote back offering that my blog contains essays that tell about my views and what life means to me. I hadn’t thought about using them for that purpose.


I will call her midweek to catch up and celebrate our up-and-coming seventy-fifth birthdays. Here’s to well-wishing, and such a settling state of being.


Happy Birthday to the two of us.

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