Until the last several months I never listened to the ticking of my clock. The future was always around the corner with new and exciting prospects. To dream and sketch out a course for success was always assured. My entire adult life followed this direction and provided a good life for me and my family. Even when those choices were a step back, I believed the future would always offer promise and it did in a round-about way. I have ended up where I started 40+ years ago; too bad I had to keep starting over to get here but at least I’m here. The reality is you eventually reach an age where upward career trajectory stalls, ultimately stopping entirely. Sixty-five doesn’t mean you have no value, but the clock is ticking on how long that value lasts. When you have spent your life always pushing forward and believing there are still rungs on the ladder to climb, this is a sobering fact.

Over those years, I’ve been told there are two times a year people generally reflect on the past, ponder the future and occasionally take stock of their life; the first is their birthday, the second, New Year’s.  A birthday is a specific point when a date and your age collide with reality. New Years is an opportunity for renewal and a fresh beginning; while occasionally traveling back in time; a “do-over” if you will. They are the same and totally different. Every year brings a birthday but only three of them were significant to me for what they represented. The first birthday milestone was turning sixteen. At that point I could legally get my driver’s license. It also represented a measure of freedom. I knew after I received that piece of paper, I would be able to get behind the wheel and drive. There were obvious stipulations; having the funds to buy gas the most important, but still, as long as I had the key and fuel in the tank, I was free. The second landmark was twenty-one. This age proclaimed I was an adult and meant I could vote in the greatest country in the world and legally have a drink to celebrate that fact.  The third date was turning sixty-five. During my lifetime this age always represented the end of the line, workwise at least. Growing up the male was always portrayed as a successful, long-term career guy. He had given his all for the company but when he reached the magical age of sixty-five, he was given a party, a gold watch and shown the door. Never mind the fact you were still healthy and productive; sixty-five was time to find the exit and not come back. Like Ebenezer waiting for the Ghost of Christmas yet-to-come, I feared this date most of all.