I turned fifty last week. It is a very strange sensation, to intellectually know that I'm a half a century old, yet to still feel like I've barely experienced life.
The title of this entry comes from the first of the Indiana Jones movies where our intrepid adventurer, beat up and battered by the Nazis, is put to bed by his old flame Marion and he points out that it really isn't your physical age that matters so much as the experiences that you've been through that make you feel old. The Interstate of life has a lot of potholes on it and running over and through them is what puts the dents and dings in our psyche.
My youngest daughter, on the other hand, turned sixteen. Right now she's like a little sportscar that is still in the showroom, all potential but very few miles on the odometer. I hope she stays that way for a while; there's plenty of time to experience life's detours and some of the wrecks that are probably inevitable.
Me? I'm starting to feel like my dad's old '39 Ford coupe.
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