We live in the miracle and the curse of the information age. Exciting and exhausting, with the daily challenge of weeding out what matters. I am about to turn 75. I can now see the horizon. Death, which used to be a fairytale, is now a non-fiction thriller.
Helen Mirren once said:
One of the greatest gifts of growing older is discovering the magic of solitude. What once felt like loneliness now feels like freedom. The silence that used to be uncomfortable has become peaceful, even luxurious. My home isn’t just a place - it’s a sanctuary. A space where I can dance in the kitchen with no one watching, get lost in a book without interruption, or simply sit in stillness, fully present with myself. I no longer crave constant noise or validation. A quiet evening with a cup of coffee and a good movie feels just as fulfilling as a night out. The beauty of solitude isn’t in being alone - it’s in feeling completely at peace with yourself. No pressure to perform, no need to impress, just the gentle contentment of being exactly where you are, as you are. There’s a quiet kind of joy in realizing that your own company is enough, that happiness doesn’t come from being surrounded by people, but from being at home within yourself. 
I can’t report how my own turning is going, because it has only recently begun to come over me - probably a letting go of book sales, art shows etc etc, although I am well aware that my achievements have made me who I am, filled me with pride and joy.
We spend our lifetime searching for the meaning of life, searching for our true self, our inner self, our soul. That inner core is love. Love of self, love of other.
I don’t really even know what I mean by this shift. I still want to finish all the unfinished writing projects; I still want to memorize Rhapsody in Blue; I need to finish the 4’x4’ painting of Glasgow I promised my dear niece, Nancy. I still want to be a jazz violinist when I grow up. Well, maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m all wrong. Maybe I won’t ever grow up. Maybe I’ll just become more and more like a child, full of questions, full of un-knowing.
I guess I have always been attracted to the innocent un-knowing-ness of a child. I wrote and recorded this song in 1995ish.
LIKE A CHILD
But perhaps we’re looking for UnKnowing 2.0. We’ll never get to the tabula rasa holiness of a newborn, but we might shed enough crap to be calmer, kinder, more observant, less vociferous, more forgiving. Dear Pope Francis’ comment ‘Who am I to judge?’ was such a beautiful exhortation towards acceptance of other.
In his book FALLING UPWARDS, the theologian Richard Rohr writes about this shift. In the first half of life, we are focused on achievement, rule-following, fitting in; in the second half, we begin to understand that love, grace, contemplation, forgiveness, kindness, helping others, is where true peace resides.
That doesn’t mean we achieve these goals. We’re just thinking about them a whole lot more.
It’s Arbor Day. Bill and I bought a teeny cherry tree six or seven years ago. It now graces our front sidewalk and amazes us (and everyone who walks by) every day. The blossoms will be gone very quickly. I’ll spare you the metaphor.
Plant a tree. And if you enjoyed this post, share it with a friend.
There's no way your (age redacted)! Your approach to life is so youthful and vigorous. May you dance forever!
Love this post, Kate! The wise words of Helen MIrren combined with all your creativity is just the burst of creativity and joy that should make all readers' day!