I’ve been feeling a little ancient lately, but Halley Suitt reminds me that’s not one of the five things that matter. Five for five.

Some days, I feel so so so so old. I feel a bit like Methuselah, who, if you recall, lived 900 years. Being old, you forget sometimes what it’s like to be young. You just don’t get it.

I feel old when I talk to people who are something like 18 or 23 or 36 and they are all caught up in stupid stuff that doesn’t matter and once you’re a little aged like me, you want to tell them … “but, that thing, … that thing you’re worrying about, … see, you don’t get it yet, … but that doesn’t matter. Just doesn’t matter at all.”

Of course it would be rude and annoying to say that kind of comment, so you keep it to yourself.

So the good part of being old is knowing what really doesn’t matter. And that what does matter, you can count on the fingers of one hand. You know they would have given us hands with 17 fingers if all that stupid stuff counted.

There really are only about five things that matter:

Thumb: You love someone.

Pointer: Someone loves you.

Middle Finger: Your work: you have the bravery to do what you love and really become yourself and screw what anyone else thinks about it.

Ring Finger: Connection to people, family, friends

Pinky: Eat, drink, be merry.