“It is important to remember that the beginning can be
anywhere along the way.”
                                         

Beginnings.  It can feel like all our beginnings happened long ago. “I began to study dance.” “He began to read.” But the verb “begin” has multiple definitions. It can mean to start, yes. But it can also mean to “do the first part of an action.” It can also mean “to come into existence.”

Definitions aside, it still feels like a young person’s verb, sort of like “jump,” or “somersault.”

 Our lives seem to begin when we’re born, but it’s really just the “first part of an action,” -- the action of life.

I came across some expired food in my refrigerator the other day. It was stuff I rarely use, thus the expired status. As I threw it out, I wondered if people expire. I guess, if all we are is a chemical compound, like my Worcestershire sauce, then the answer would have to be yes. It would mean we get to a point where we are not useful anymore. Disposable. But is that really all we are?

A dear aunt and uncle of mine passed on recently. They were actually my husband’s aunt and uncle, but they had made me feel like part of the family for so many years that I consider them my own.  As I was writing their children a note I realized that, even though their physical presence was gone, that was not what I had valued, even when they were here. It had always been their joy, generosity of spirit, and love for God and man. The times we spent together had shown me those qualities, but the qualities themselves were utterly independent of being with them.

Even though they lived well into their nineties, it never felt like they had “expired.” They kept right on being relevant and useful. Not by doing lots of things, but by simply being a blessing to everyone they knew. They were quite literally a blessing right up to the end.  An end that isn't, really. An end that is more like the end of a ballet: The applause happens and the dancers leave the stage, but they keep doing stuff. They walk down to their dressing rooms, and they get up and take class the next morning, and they keep dancing. Not really an end in the sense of termination. Just the end of that moment. Of that particular ballet.

So, when I start to feel irrelevant, or that I am becoming of less use to my family or the world,  I will think of my aunt and uncle (and many others) who have left the stage. I will remember that they realized that, even though their roles may have changed, their ability to make others feel loved had not. And, like them, I will look for the beginnings that are right in front of me. The freshness that can appear at any age and cause my heart to lift and my eyes to crinkle. ‍

‍Because, expiration dates are for bottles, not for people.

And beginnings are for every age, not just the young.

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