Photo by Max Bender

Life goes on, right? I’m not as certain about that as I used to be – or maybe I no longer understand the term “goes on.”

I’ve been pondering past decisions I’ve made in this life of mine – decisions of enormous impact, decisions that created my future, essentially out of the blue. Forty-nine years ago, for instance, I moved from rural, southwest Michigan to . . . ta da . . . Chicago. I’d been a back-to-the-lander for the previous four years, having transformed with many of my fellow boomers from antiwar activist and hippie to planet-saving environmentalist. I was also married, but that marriage – numero uno – fell apart and I found myself, in my late 20s, with my entire future in my hands. I loved gardening. I’d been raising barred-rock chickens. Every spring we made maple syrup. On and on. Love the planet, man.

But I found myself looking beyond the moment and knew I had a future to create – ooh, serious responsibility here. I knew I wasn’t meant to remain a farmer. What I loved was writing. And it was something I was good........

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