The longer I am on the planet, the more I realize that age, as with anything subjective, is relative. We begin the aging process the second we are born but it doesn’t really impact us until we reach the age that we, ourselves, define as “old”. I have reached that age several times during my seven decades but then decided to “kick the can down the road” to a new benchmark once arriving at what I had previously designated. My first recalculation occurred at the age of 25. I thought this was the beginning of the end having lived a quarter of a century! I have to admit, once getting over that hump, no birthday has held as much significance but I still measure the decades with qualifiers. For example, getting to my half century celebration gave me the satisfaction of knowing that I no longer had to try to work so hard at qualifying as “young” looking or acting but I could take it easy being on the young side as a woman of a “certain age”. Well, I have blown through that little facade and am now contemplating a three quarter century mark, still a few years away, but close. I can only tell you that I still don’t know how old is old. I thought I did several times until I reached the target I had designated in my own aging process. If you are older than I am, you think I am young. If you are younger, you think I am old and you will think that, until you get here.