Wringing the most out of life

I confessed in a blog recently to an occasional longing to be young, even forty, again. A friend wrote that she well remembered when her mother said to that to her. It was, she said, at that moment she decided to wring the most she could out of every day of life. Got me to thinking about how I’ve lived my life.

Being given more to timid than adventuresome, I have never skiied, ridden a roller coaster, or jumped off a high diving board. I’ve never been to England, Europe or Asia, though the latter isn’t high on my bucket list. I’ve never been on an ocean cruise liner, despite my kids’ urgings. But as I kept thinking of my list, I realized that maybe listing what I haven’t done isn’t the way to go about it.

So I started thinking about the things I have done. I’ve always defined my roles in life as, in this order, mother, author and publisher. So, I’ve raised four wonderful children and watched them establish good families and careers; I’ve written books, won some nice awards, and published other people’s books. I have loved and been loved by a couple of good men and have made and loved lots of friends; owned and loved a lot of memorable dogs and one unforgettable cat; I’ve had a lifelong love affair with good food, eating it and cooking it; I’ve been to more of the states in the union than I’ve missed, particularly in the West; I’ve been to Scotland, the Caribbean, and, once briefly, to Mexico; I’ve flown in planes and ridden on trains, and I’ve read a lot of good books.

In my own way, I think I’ve wrung a lot of living out of life, and, you know what? That roller coaster isn’t essential to a full life.

Now I can’t wait to see what adventures are next. I’m sure they’re out there. But no, kids, not an ocean cruise. Now that Great Lakes cruise and that weekend in Chicago…. different stories.