Age is not to be devalued to being JUST a number. That it is a number is of such importance, because our days are numbered. And if our days are numbered then age is a number on the way to the end of that finite series of numbers.

And, knowing that and possessing perhaps a bit of self-worth, inevitably leads to an avalanche of self-examining questions – am I a good enough person? Have I read enough? Am I wise? Am I too proud? Should I be more forgiving? Am I loved or am I loving enough? Am I happy? Am I too jealous, too angry, too impatient? Am I still dreaming or have have I really even begun at all? Will I ever get anywhere if I keep on with my careless, procrastinatory habits? Am I a crap writer? What can I do about being a crap writer? Why does my neck and lower back ache, should I begin to exercise? What do I know? Am I dumb? What happened to my resolve to become an erudite smart aleck, all-knowing on the ways of the world, with a side ability to sing like an angel?