It happened two days ago but the feeling lingers.  I wonder what it means … perhaps nothing.

My dear wife Jody died at 54.  My dear friend Jo died at 70.  And here I am – in a new country with new friends, immersed in the Belgian cycling culture … and still waking up every morning.

I cherish the days when there’s nothing physically wrong with me.  How strange that sounds.

I cherish this, sitting in Izy Coffee writing my daily blog.  Jetpack tells me that I’ve tapped out a post for 132 days in a row.  I’m allowed a “Wow!” about that.

I’m singing at open mic sessions, I’m struggling to become a true cellist, and I’m meditating.

Plus The Evolutionary Collective is a family to me.  I love our meetings on Zoom.

In Dutch, alles is goed

***

I remember photos on school walls of students who died so young.  I remember a loved colleague at Lethbridge Community College who was killed in a car accident in her early 20s.  I remember a fellow life insurance agent at The Mutual Group who committed suicide, age 32.

And I’m still waking up every morning.

My friend Lydia insists I will live till age 104.  I’m willing.  Maybe I should get a start on things and buy my walker and anti-dementia pills now.

Or … I can keep flying, keep loving, keep smiling.

I prefer Door #2