We had our first and only at 40. (My wife is two days younger than me.) I retired a year ago, and our daughter is approaching a quarter of a century old. That was a miracle in itself as she almost didn't make it past hour one.<p>I loved this essay, saved it even. It's how I've lived my life for all of the days since our daughter's birth. I'm reluctant to say it's how I lived all of the years before that, as I wasn't as aware of time and of my mortality. That said, I had a sense my average life would be 75 years, and privately celebrated my 37.5 year birthday.<p>Paul Graham has at least two essays related to this:
<a href="http://paulgraham.com/vb.html" rel="nofollow">http://paulgraham.com/vb.html</a>
<a href="http://paulgraham.com/kids.html" rel="nofollow">http://paulgraham.com/kids.html</a><p>For me, I consider my life as a book. There's a chapter where I would read the Wizard of Oz books to our daughter most nights. We went through the set of 15 books three times, and then it stopped. There's a chapter where I was doing fashion photography as a hobby for eight years. Me?! Yes! I even had two fashion shoots in Manhattan. There are many chapters of me working as a mathemagician, working on air traffic control R&D projects, one where I had to simulate stratospheric balloon trajectories and balloon control and navigation logic. I also had to learn a lot about stratospheric weather, which our in-house meteorologists had almost no experience.<p>I take essays like this and the two PG essays, and realize I have the chance to live a little more. This afternoon I'll be at the library while our daughter is working from home. I'll be continuing the writing of a story, may work on the migration from Freemind to Freeplane so that I can return to my personal work on the Traveling Salesman Problem. I'll grill dinner tonight for the family, will attend an in-person luncheon on Saturday, have an on-line chat with some folks in Berkeley Sunday night (I'm outside DC.)<p>The clock is ticking, the sand is flowing through the sandglass (I love that from Tom Scocca's essay!). The meaning of life is what we produce and what we create in the limited time we have. It's our mortality that establishes the context for meaning; it's what we do that is the actual meaning.