The Reaching of Youth and the Wisdom of Letting Go

When I was young, I was always reaching.
Reaching for an imagined future.
Reaching for a life defined by the things I had done.

Some things: a book, a medal, the title of World Champion.
And later, more reaching — a career, financial security, enough recognition to prove that I existed.

I know I’m not alone.
This is the reaching of youth — the desire to establish ourselves, to stake our claim in the world.

But this morning, I walked the beach. I picked up a smooth white rock, noticed the birch trees, and listened to the call of a blue jay.
They exist. They have worth — simply because they are.

We make things so much more complicated.

I am beginning to entertain the idea that I am enough.
I am like the rounded rock I picked up this morning.
Would anyone ask the rock what it had accomplished? Or how it defines its existence?

As I grow older, I see more clearly: not only am I connected to everything — I am as perfect as the birch, the blue jay, the rock.

I want to tell my children — no, all the children I meet — the teenagers, the young adults, the exhausted new parents lying awake at night wondering if they’re doing life right:

You are enough.

Make your way in the world. Build the career. Do what you need to do.
But understand: this is only loosely connected to happiness.

When you can sit quietly in who you are and say, “Not bad. I’m okay,”
that’s a start.

And maybe, when you're as old as I am, you’ll be able to say, “I love you” — not to someone else, but to yourself.

It’s not the stiffness in my hands or the swelling of my left index finger that makes aging meaningful.
It’s definitely not the losses.

What makes aging beautiful is the love.
The love for every living thing.
The love I feel in the morning light on the mountains.
And as I find love for myself, it becomes easier to love others.

Love is the force that connects us — to each other, to the world, to everything.

Even old people keep reaching — for that thing, that person, that acknowledgment to prove they still matter.
Aging and grace don’t always arrive together.

But if I could, I would tell the man walking toward me, swaying gently side to side with age,
We love you.
You are enough.

The self you believe yourself to be — is perfect.