When we are young, we test ourselves to know we are alive: feeling the thrill of walking along a precipice, exploring our endurance by running a marathon, conducting the electricity of a kiss with a new lover.
When we are old, we tend to measure our awareness by our acquired constraints: a tricky knee acting up, travel suitcases and porters exchanged for a backpack, the weariness in our bones at the end of a day.
Although some of these observations must inevitably differ by age, the same awareness can often be shared. The beauty of a shooting star in a mountain sky knows no limits of age, race, gender or nationality. The touch of another’s hand can be just as comforting for a toddler, a parent, or a great-grandparent. The wonder of a dew drop clinging to the end of a blade of grass can be seen by anyone with sight; the aroma of a misty morning by anyone with smell; the vibration of a symphonic orchestra or a distant train whistle by anyone with hearing.
At any moment, at any age, we are free to stop, take notice, and sense what it is to be alive.