After seven decades of pondering philosophy, theology, religion, evolution and psychology, I've found that my dog is my best teacher.

At this point no one remembers my past but me. Sometimes it seems that remembering my past is a bit of a bad habit. Given the short span of years I have left, how much time do I want to spend re-imagining people, places and happenings of 50 or 60 years ago?

When I remember my past, it seems that I had choices and made decisions, but I'm not sure there was really so much freedom to choose. When we're young life piles on demands fast and heavy. Our "choices" are made with a kind of desperation, though we may not realize it. We are often looking for a safe exit, if there is one.

Having said this, perhaps I can stop blaming myself, stop thinking I could have done something different. And no one else is alive to remember it, if they ever noticed. Perhaps I can forget or reduce that feeling, or just see it as another example of real life.

So when I look at my past, I just see a young person trying to find a way to live in a world that offered many unreconcilable opportunities and demands. All to be done with a body and DNA that I did not choose to inherit. Maybe I can just remember gently, without judgement of anyone.

So now I turn to my dog for advice.
She knows when it's time for breakfast, and when to go for a walk.
She knows to look for a place to nap in the sun.
She knows her friends, and is always glad to see them.
And she hasn't given up hope of catching a squirrel.
I'm still learning.