Ten months into the pandemic, I turned 51 and did the math: I'm entering the final third of my life. I know that sounds grim, and I am hoping to get more time than that, but I often do these mental calculations because the clock of life inspires me to make the most of the years that remain. That constant tick-tock reminds me to fill the final decades with invigorating experiences to bank in my inner black box -- a delightful cache of memories to replay over and over in my mind like a favorite movie.
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