To the One Who Thinks It’s Too Late

It’s a little rainy this morning.

The kind of rain that doesn’t rush or rage.

Just whispers across the windows like it’s trying not to wake the house.

I’ve got a list of things to do today. Work to finish. Jobs to check on.

But that’s not what’s on my mind.

I’m sitting in my favorite spot in the house.

Coffee in hand.

And this mug... well, it was the last gift I ever got from my Ma before she left this world.

It’s chipped on the rim now.

A little darker inside from years of use.

But I still reach for it.

Because when I sit here with that mug,

it almost feels like I’m sitting with her again.

And this morning, I kept thinking about the things she used to say.

She’d sip her coffee and tell me,

“At my age, you don’t start over.”

“People my age don’t do that.”

“Why bother now?”

And I loved my Ma more than words.

But today, I can’t stop thinking about how wrong she was.

Because I’ve lived long enough now to see what she didn’t get to see.

That plenty of people past sixty don’t just keep going.

They start fresh.

They fall in love.

They chase passions they tucked away for decades.

They write books, grow gardens, take road trips, get tattoos, start businesses.

They rise.

Julia Child didn’t write her first cookbook until she was fifty.

Colonel Sanders didn’t franchise KFC until he was sixty-two.

Toni Morrison published Beloved at fifty-six and won the Nobel Prize after sixty.

Grandma Moses started painting at seventy-eight.

And Nelson Mandela didn’t become president until he was seventy-five.

The world tells you it’s over.

History says otherwise.

But maybe your gut still says,

“It’s different for me.”

Maybe you’ve buried too many people.

Watched too many doors close.

Heard too many voices—sometimes even your own—say,

You had your chance.

So let me say this plain and clear:

If you woke up this morning, then today is your chance.

I don’t care how long it’s been.

I don’t care how many false starts, heartbreaks, or sideways years you’ve had.

If you opened your eyes today,

then possibility is still in the room.

You still got breath?

Then you still got power.

You still got a name?

Then you still got purpose.

You still got time?

Then you still got choice.

Don’t let the world shrink you down to your prescriptions and your pension.

Don’t let the mirror lie to you.

Don’t let the ache in your knees make you forget the strength in your soul.

You are not the leftovers of your former life.

You are the keeper of everything it taught you.

You don’t have to start a company.

You don’t have to run a marathon.

You don’t have to prove anything.

But you can.

You can still fall in love—with a person, a place, or a purpose.

You can still grow—new skills, new habits, new courage.

You can still lead—by example, by presence, by simply being real.

You can still change someone’s life—with your story, your time, your fierce and quiet wisdom.

They told you aging was a decline.

I’m telling you aging is a refinement.

This isn’t the end of your book.

This is the chapter where the meaning sharpens.

Where the stuff you’ve been through starts to make sense.

Where you don’t hustle for attention. You carry authority without saying a word.

So stand tall.

Laugh deep.

Shake off the belief that you missed your moment.

Because as long as you have breath in your lungs,

you are still becoming.

And becoming is the bravest thing a person can do.

And now,

I’ll get back to my coffee

and this rainy morning with Ma.