I knew a man who once said, “the older I get the slower my music gets.” Come to think of it, he may have said, “the slower my music becomes.” Either way, I know what he meant or rather I know how he feels now that I am in my older state.

These days I find myself in a Malibu state of mind as I make the turn off Sunset onto the highway running alongside the edge of the frontier.

There I allow life to unfold naturally, as if I had any control in the first place, as it helps me lean into the quiet days. A place where memories are made that will be held onto long after I’m gone.

It’s the slow life. The life of not chasing tomorrows but relishing in all the day has to offer. Where the mornings creep slowly as the first cup of coffee turns into two while I dog-ear the page of that book that I may get to later.

With the vastness of the great Pacific just beyond my tent, I become aware of how small I am, like a speck of sand beneath my feet, understanding life will go on with or without me.

It humbles me. Puts everything in perspective and gives me a feeling of surrender—allowing me to be present.

For that is really all we have.

A gift as they say.