My daughter is preparing to celebrate my sixtieth birthday.
A few hours earlier, here she is:
My son and daughter asked me what I would like to accomplish in the next year. Life is so full now, I told them. As my personal future diminishes, the present intensifies, almost unbearably at times, with what is. What I hope for is to be present in its unfolding, a few more days, months, years. But I also know that my responsibility is not over. There is more agency ahead, even though now I’m in the back seat.