Last weekend, I indulged in one of my favorite hobbies: collecting sea glass. As I hunched over a slip of beach on a rocky coastline, my eyes scoured the sand and rocks for small gems. A sliver of green . . . a small piece of pale brown. I found sharp shards that I tossed back into the sea to continue their journey.
Glass aged by the sea has lost its shiny sharpness and clear fractures. Instead, smooth edges and new shapes emerge, molded by sand and time. The beauty of sea glass is found precisely in its weathered nature.
My friend Nancy turns 75 this week and she, like sea glass, has been gloriously worn by life. Her gray hairs, wrinkles, and ageless wisdom bespeak the passage of time. Her physical form has been sculpted by the surf of the years and she makes no apologies.
In this culture, we rarely admire the twilight of the human lifespan. My wish is to age as gracefully as my friend, to wear my buffeted edges similar surrender, and to gratefully accept the loveliness of transformation.