Trees in this part of the world show us. Every winter they are buffeted by winds, endure the cold, expand and contract as ice alternates with rain. They send their roots deeper as water becomes more scarce. For a full quarter of every year--longer in the north--they live this hardship. In spring they awaken to grow again, full of the wisdom of the winter's hardships. Every year the ring they add tells the story of that year, whether it was wet or dry, lean or full. This is how trees become our elders, and if we are willing to learn from them, this is how we become elders, too.
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On my 46th birthday I believed with such commitment that I’d turned 47 that I’ve gotten it wrong for about six months. That is how long 45-46 was. I could subtract my birth year from the actual year and still get it wrong. This is a far lovelier understanding.