My Life in Ten Sentences

As my eighty-fifth birthday approaches, I’ve taken on the challenge of telling my life’s story in just ten sentences, a tall order after so many decades of living.
I imagine it might have been easier when I was younger, with fewer memories competing for space, but the limit forces honesty: only the essentials can stay.
When I was ten, my small-town community taught me what mattered most — hard work, kindness, and keeping your word.
At twenty, I was a husband, a father of two, and an airman serving my country, filled with hope for whatever may lie ahead.
By thirty, I had a home, a steady career, and dreams that seemed safely within reach.
At forty, with both children finishing high school, I found myself trusted with the responsibilities of management and the quiet pride that comes with them.
Fifty brought heartbreak and hope — the unraveling of a marriage, but also the unexpected grace of meeting the woman who would become the love of my later life.
At sixty, I was content, still working, but with retirement and adventure on the horizon.

Throughout my seventies, my wife and I traveled, collecting memories instead of souvenirs.
Now, in my eighties, settled in a retirement community among many good friends, I sit with gratitude and humor, waiting calmly for “The Big Guy” to call when He’s ready.

They say a tombstone only shows the beginning and the end; everything that matters happens in the dash between. We are still trying to make that dash more interesting.

Michael Altshuler once said: “The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot.”

P.S. Quite unexpectedly, I completed my task using only eight sentences.

…Tommy