Over the Hill

Some years ago, we were visiting with our friends Fritz and Carol. Gary and Carol were in the kitchen getting a start on supper, and Fritz and I were sitting on the couch, just relaxing and talking. He said something I will never forget. He was 45 at the time, and he figured that meant he was probably "over the hill," more than halfway through life. He said he'd reached the top of the hill, and from here on out, he was not only closer to home, but also picking up momentum to reach his destination.

For most of the world, "over the hill" is a bad thing -- black balloons, black streamers, and birthday gifts of Depends and denture cleaner. But ever since Fritz made those comments in passing, I can't help but look at gray hairs and milestone birthdays as evidence of being that much closer to home.