I believe this because I really have no choice.
My faith is based less on the certainty that I still have something important in me, than on the overwhelming evidence that so far, greatness has yet to make an appearance on my behalf.
At an age when many, if not most people are thinking seriously about retirement, I want to believe that my best is still yet to come.
So what if I didn’t hit a grand slam my first trip to the plate … or my second or my fifth … or my 20th … so what?
In baseball parlance, I’m due …
History is full of examples of people who peaked too early, I want to believe that I have yet to really hit my stride and that my big moment is just over the horizon.
Think about it …
In his 30s, when Alexander the Great saw the breadth of his domain he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer … and then he died a short time later.
Harper Lee published her Pulitzer Prize winning novel “To Kill a Mockingbird” at 34 and never wrote again, confident that she had nowhere to go from there, but down.
Isn’t it obvious I’m saving my best for last?
I take great comfort from the fact that Winston Churchill’s finest hour came in his 60s, as he lead England to victory in WWII.
The knowledge that Abraham Lincoln failed at almost every attempt to gain elected office until he finally became our greatest President in his 50s, provides me with a certain solace.
“Snow on the rooftop, but fire in the heart!” Or words to that effect …
Not surprisingly, for a long time Churchill and Lincoln have been my most admired historical figures.
After all, weren’t they late bloomers … just like me?