The digits of my age, when added together, become a perfect number 6.
The other night, I was talking with my dad over dinner.
“You realize that soon you will be a number that is close to perfect ,” he told me.
“I nodded,” as if this was exactly what I, too, had been thinking.
He went on to explain that in the traditional human lifespan we each have two opportunities in our lives to be a perfect number—6 and 28. The next perfect number year is not until 496. While I would like to believe that I am of the fairy kin, I think I should be present as much as possible.
Thus, tomorrow marks the beginning of my third and possibly final somewhat perfect number year, as previously described. So, I guess I better make the most of it.
The final days of 32 have not been easy. When is life easy?
Soul searching; heart pain; much deep sighing.
I remember when I was in high school, and my AP Psychology teacher talked to us about mid-life crises. In hindsight, I think he was likely experiencing one.
He told us that when you are young, you imagine your whole life ahead of you. The world is full of possibility. As you get older, doors close. Suddenly, you are 30 and you have not done all those things you thought you would by this point in your life.
Dark stuff to tell a 16 year old, not that I think many of us paid especially close attention to him. We adored him, but we were invincible at the time.
Here it is. I have past 30. I have been through crises. I am still standing. My heart is still open.
I am only perfect in that I accept my imperfections.
I hope for this to be a year that is perfect in its own imperfections.
I will be thankful if there were no crises.
Whatever may come, I will do my best to keep breathing, to keep my heart and mind open, and my feet and body connected with the earth.