I remember back in my 20s (pictured above, working at the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner), time seemed to belong to other people. “They” got old, not me or us.

Anyway, that sentiment faded as time went by, though even when I turned 40, it still seemed like old age was something for other people, for mere mortals, so to speak.

Oh, well, the hubris of youth. Time did pass of course, and here I am, comfortably — and not so comfortably at times — nestled in that segment of life we call the senior years for wont of not admitting what these years really are, the coming of the end of our time on planet Earth. 

Okay, those thoughts aside, one of the benefits of reaching the milestone of longevity (see how I keep avoiding the term “old age”) is that you have a lot of time to reflect, which is why I titled my website À la recherche du temps perdu — in search of time lost, borrowing the title of a series of books by Marcel Proust.

What one does gain, or regain, as time goes by (thank you, “Casablanca”) is that you realize what a selfish asshole you were for most of your years. Now, is there any way to make up for all those times when you acted so imperiously?

Not really. It’s hard to apologize to people who are no longer in your life because you’ve of they’ve moved on, or because they may have moved ultimately on — to the next life.

Perhaps the seminal event of my 20s was finding Buddhism. Fortunately, Buddhism puts everything in perspective — in this life you make causes and if you don’t realize the effects during your time here on this planet, you will in the next lifetime. Yikes, you can’t escape your karma!

Anyway, the Ancient Greeks nailed this with their allegory of the cave. What you see and live in this life are just shadows on a cave wall, not real life. 

I’ll leave my musings on life at that, and I’d drink to it except I quit the libations in my old age — oops, there’s that term.