If time is a climb, that climb would be a mountain to me.
Just as a climber wants to reach the peak, I did too with my age. And that peak was the age of 32. It's my favorite number from childhood since so many professional athletes I had admired wore this number.
On my way to 32, I also had short-term aging goals that I would continuously alter: when I was 11, I wanted to be 15; at 18, I wanted to be 23.
When I had reached my peak. I was finally okay with my age. Gone were the goal-directed thoughts of wanting to raise the age bar just one more time to be a few years older.
But I couldn't stay at 32 long. By 35, I didn't really look forward to my birthday. I was officially "mid-thirties" and a mere 5 years from 40. I was leaving the peak. I was going down the mountain.
Now with a few months remaining in my 40th year, aging is like gravity pulling at me as I go down my mountain. Carefully I find my footing one step and one crevice at a time with the comfort of knowing a lot more about how to use the gear I'm using to get me down that I learned on the way up.
But still I look up occasionally to see where I had called my peak that gets a little farther away each year.
