It’s the first Monday in June, the sixth since I transitioned to retirement re-imagined. Seven years ago on this day, jarred awake by an alarm before dawn, my mind on the day’s work before my feet hit the floor, I was running and getting ready to head out on the interstate to my corporate office.
This morning, I wake far earlier than was my habit during my work years. Some say too early, but it’s the natural rhythm of my body. One of the great gifts of this stage of life is the opportunity to give in to it. My mind is on the day’s work in these first waking moments too, but first: reading, writing, and prayer—and soy milky frothy coffee.
In some respects the same, in others, deliciously different.
I love being sixty. Have I mentioned that before?
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