I don’t pick up pennies on the street.
 
I’m lucky enough.

Absolutely nothing! That’s what any good marriage counselor will tell you. Truth is just a story. It’s an important story. But it’s not the truth. And once a couple figures that out, kind and graceful covenants follow.
 
Facts sometimes stand-in for truth. Journalists, politicians, advertisers, scientists and you and I use facts to build a truth because someone needs to make a decision. But unwavering faith in one fact or truth almost always leads to broken glass. Or a burned supper. Or bandages. Or boredom.
 
That’s the truth.

When you go fishing for who you are, who you want to be for your next years, you might think about your nursing home days. What will you be talking about?
 
After nearly two years of weekly visits to my mom’s memory care unit, here are some of the mantras I’ve heard from residents, the words spoken when a brain shrinks and distills a life’s essence. 
 

• Let me out.
• I’ve got no one.
• I can’t do this.
• Where is my car?
• This is my little girl.
• I love you.
• Watch out for her.
• Hi.
• Hi.
• No.
• OK.

 
What will your last mantra be? It starts with your words right now. I’m just saying. 

I didn’t have time to deal with it so, for years, I surrendered my body to trainers and nutritionists, Rolfers and acupuncturists. I squatted and ate kale and learned to breathe through exquisite pain. It was efficient discipline and I loathed it.
 
Then I wanted to budget more closely so I began yoga classes and riding my bike and walking everywhere. And I realized I loved not sweating or paying people to be my sadistic pseudo friends.