When I was younger, I imagined that by the time I reached this stage of life, I’d have quite the list of accomplishments. Surely, I’d be well-traveled, widely read, impressively fit, financially successful, and the proud author of at least three books—all while raising a wonderful family and enjoying a happy marriage.

The reality looks a little different. I can truthfully say I’ve raised three lovely daughters and, even better, I genuinely love (and like) my husband, Ray. That feels like a win. I’ve also published a novel, a milestone that once felt out of reach. Our family has grown to include three terrific sons-in-law—Gregorio, Ron, and Andrew—plus four beautiful, smart, and loving grandchildren who remind me daily of what abundance really means.

The rest? Not exactly as planned. I’ve seen some of the world, made some achievements, and carved out a nontraditional career that has suited me well, if not impressed the masses. I’ve published one book, not three. And yes, I thought I’d be more widely read, more fit, more well-rounded than I actually am.

If I tally life against that old list, I could be tempted to feel like I’ve fallen short.

But here’s the better question: what is going right?

Plenty. I have a growing family I adore. I’m deeply rooted in writing communities that inspire me and remind me that words can heal, connect, and transform. Ray and I have built a life rich with love, joy, and laughter. My grandchildren have brought me a new kind of peace and perspective I couldn’t have imagined when I was younger. I’m healthy (knock on wood). I’ve found meaning in my faith and comfort in a supportive spiritual community. And perhaps most importantly, I’ve discovered my passion for writing—a passion that continues to fill me with purpose and gratitude.

I’ve also noticed a growing connection to the outdoors. A walk beneath the trees or the quiet rhythm of a changing season now feels like a kind of prayer. Younger me might have overlooked those gifts; older me knows to treasure them.

One of the unexpected blessings of aging is clarity. The world’s measuring sticks matter less. What remains are the essentials: love, health, spirituality, community, joy, gratitude, and peace.

My grandmother once told me that her happiest years were between 60 and 70. I think I understand why. By then, you’ve made peace with your so-called failures and fully accepted your successes. That may just be the secret to happiness.

So that’s where I land: grateful, aware, and content. The truth is, the world doesn’t much care whether we’ve checked every box on some old list. What matters is whether we are happy.

And right now, I am.