Aging hands our past back to us in other people grow, and the richness of our inner life.

We get more complex as we turn inward over and over again.

I see my childhood in my friend's children as they enter and reenter the swimming pool. I ate a tiny pizza at the pool and became 7 again.

In our very limited amount of available time, my childhood is felt via textures under my feet—mostly wet and humid, and where brick meets mud.

The body remembers what the mind has filed away. Other people become mirrors we didn't know we needed, reflecting what we thought were lost.

Guess what?

They are still there.

I see the wisdom of my life in the hundred-year-old oak trees in my parents' backyard and remember they have been there my whole life, shading and requesting no other gift than a presence that makes things better.

I see myself in spaces between their leaves and where I've stayed in the same tiny holes.

Mercifully, the most important things don't change. And we can be distracted or lazy adults and still keep the most important near to us.

That's blessing in pure form like these gellyfish from the Kansas City Zoo and Aquarium.