I know that pictures of me on the beach change each year–I gain more weight, develop more facial lines, look a little more confident, and perhaps happier because of my growing acceptance of the many things I cannot change now but I may take some shots of changing in the future.
My happiness now has become less dependent on many external factors; they’re more hinged on the fact that the sun, more than the people I’m with, the hotel where I stay, the things I do, they matter less, and that what counts is that I’m alive and am able to have a glimpse of the setting sun, that I believe is already something worth celebrating about–being able to enjoy that view of the sun as it turns bright orange then suddenly darkness.
I am becoming old. And that’s a good thing. I am not having so much fun, but I’m happy. The two are different.