She had decided not to waste another minute. The minutes here on the other side of the second half of life seemed to all cram together into a blur and you had to take each one and hold onto it dearly to make it count. She didn’t have to ascribe meaning to each moment depending on where it led – what happened next didn’t matter any longer. She would cherish the moments simply for what they were, by themselves.
It was something that had occurred to her one day as she had sat hunched on a stool, watching her mice enjoying some particularly fine cheese that she had provided. They weren’t thinking of the next piece of cheese, or the one after that. They were focused completely on this cheese, now, as if it was the only piece they would ever have, or ever needed to have. There was some wisdom in that.
Living in the second half of life gave you that luxury – the luxury to be in the moment, because it was far too late to plan for the future. Whatever was done had been done and the momentum of the downhill slide would carry you forward into the future--the only thing you had left was the right now.
The moments were a lot easier to cherish when you learned how to choose which ones you were going to have. And if you knew how to feel each one as it resonated within you, if you knew how to name that feeling, you could choose them, and you could own them completely. But you had to be willing to feel them and you had to be willing to let them change you.