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omething came to mind just now - an old song called “Bobby McGee.” It was a popular song, and even though it was a rather sad song, in a way, it also celebrated the freedom and the easy-going open-heartedness of being young in the 70’s. The lyrics said:

“Freedom’s just another word for
Nothin’ left to lose.
Nothin’ ain’t worth nothin’ but it’s free.
Feelin’ good was easy though
when Bobby sang the blues.
Feelin’ good was good enough for me...
Good enough for me and Bobby McGee."

And the song went on to tell of hitch-hiking across the country, singing songs to the rhythm of the windshield wipers in the cab of a semi- in the rain, and made it sound like a beautiful adventure. Those are the thoughts and ways that only go with youth: feeling okay about not having goals or commitments, with just the infinite road of life opening ahead of us.

Youth was a wonderful time in my life; I liked it a lot, and so I stayed there a long time. Although I never hitch-hiked out of town, I did do some traveling across the country, and I too sang some blues with friends and fellow journeyers, as we discovered whatever adventures life presented to us along the way.

Childhood was short. I had to fend for myself very early. It was a lonely and hungry time, so I got out of it as fast as I could. In my travels there, I did not have an itinerary or any reliable map. Much of the time, I followed whatever path my feet were on, and went wherever that went.

Adolescence was, as adolescence usually is for all of us – confusing, insecure, surprising, with unexpected new passions and scattered storms. But I had a new home and family, and a safe harbor there. Then came “young adulthood” a.k.a. youth, and although I still hardly had a clue, the blunders I made, I learned how to recover from, and life and adventure went on.

Now I am entering a new stretch of the journey that I find almost as perplexing and mapless as adolescence was. A few days ago I realized (to my surprise and shock) an obvious but relatively unnoticed truth: more of the road is behind me now than in front of me. This is the stage of life we politely call “maturity.” You’re not old yet, but clearly well-past young.

Some lives are cut short; we cannot know why. The only way to stay young forever is to leave the earth early, as did the young woman who sang the song, Janis Joplin, and another brilliant contemporary of hers, Jimi Hendrix. But every one of us who is blessed with a full life will encounter this unexplored territory of our lives.

Sometimes it surprises me that I am still here, when some of my contemporaries are not. I guess it’s just taking me longer to do what I came here for, and I’m still not even sure what that is. I can only say that I am glad and grateful to be here.

But there are a lot of things nobody told me about this "maturity" thing. Like adolescence, it begins rather abruptly, just when you thought it wasn’t going to happen to you. And also like adolescence, there are some unexpected body changes you’re not so crazy about. And I notice that people have started treating me differently as my face changes. This is an especially perplexing surprise, since I am the same person, only more so. Some of their expectations seem very odd to me. I am not what they expect me to be; I am me.

I think I’ll go to the library or the bookstore and seek out some inspiring books by others who have taken this road before me. People I admire; people who made a difference in some way. I know it’s important to read wisely, and to avoid the blind assumptions of the stereotypes of aging in the last two generations. It’s a different world now; we are different than our predecessors, and I thank God for this.

Like adolescence, this too is a new challenge: to deal with all these changes in our bodies, in our thoughts and feelings, and in the images people will try to cast onto us. Once again we must create our own image of our new self, and figure out what it is and what we want it to be.

I still ride my bike up and down the canyon, a thing virtually unthinkable a generation ago, though I don’t ride as hard, or as fast. I don’t particularly need to, now; I have nothing I need to prove to anybody, which is a very nice feeling really. I work out in the gym, but my goals are less lofty and less cosmetic.

What shall I do with this new passage in my life-journey? I am finding lately that my thoughts are deeper, and my love for people and for God’s world is a deeper and wider circle than it was at any other time in my life. The biggest change though, is a quiet but strong desire, to do something good with the talents and gifts I’ve been given, that I’ve gathered along the road. That’s not to say I haven’t been giving something all along, but up until now, it was not really a conscious thing. Now it is both a desire and a need, and a growing intention.

I don’t know if everybody feels this, but I think most people probably do. It stops being a quest for "getting things" anymore, but instead for finding our own way for "giving things" back to life. There have been metaphors written about “the harvest time” of life, referring to maturity and age. The old bestowing their gifts of “wisdom” onto the young (who usually don’t get it till later in their own life journey anyway.) Yes, I remember learning from the old folks when I was just a green young thing; they had the greatest stories to tell.

But interestingly, as I age, I notice that I am not so much teaching, as learning more. And so, some of the wisdom I’m gathering is bound to fall and scatter around me, like sparks from an open campfire.

Yes, it's a lot like that. I am seeing more now, understanding more, and sharing it is easier because I don’t have to package it and sell it. It just scatters its light like the sparks from a campfire rising in the warm air into the night sky. All I have to do is be like that, and let my light be there. Those who need it will draw near to receive it.

So it’s not really for the world that I write what I write. It’s for me. I'm finally "getting it" and it feels good to share, with words, what I am discovering. Anyone can take what they want, use what they need, and leave the rest. And if they find it useful, pass it on.

It's the capture and release – the cycle of receiving and giving. Something moves through us when we do that. The Life-Spirit moves through us, when we do that. To write down the words, saves them. It sends them down the life-stream like the little paper boats launched by children onto the glittering green water of a creek in summertime. Who will find my little paper boats, further on downstream? Part of the joy is not-knowing.