I was born in 1966, the Year of the Fire Horse.

According to Chinese astrology, people born in ’66 are independent, adventurous and spirited. In Japan, the superstition was so strong that the birth rate actually dropped because families didn’t want daughters born under that sign.

That tracks.

For most of my life I’ve operated on what I now affectionately call the “hit by a bus” philosophy. Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, so why not enjoy today? Eat the great meal. Take the trip. Change majors. Change careers. Fall in love with a city. Fall in love. Get dumped. Fall in love again.

It’s been a devil-may-care hot air balloon ride and I didn’t particularly care where I landed as long as it was fun, a little naughty and I made it out alive.

Then I woke up one day and realized that on September 1, I will be two years away from qualifying for Social Security.

At 60, I finally landed the job I’d spent decades dreaming about. But it eluded me because I spent so much time chasing experiences instead of climbing a career ladder. Turns out I’m a late bloomer and late is better than never. Since it worked for Julia Child, I may be able to squeeze out a few more years.

The funny thing about finally building a life you love is that you suddenly want to hang on to it for a while.

My 86-year-old Uncle Jack still plays softball, leads kayak tours and cycles because, as far as he’s concerned, that’s simply what the day calls for.

“Whatever you do, keep moving,” he always says.

Longevity isn’t something we stumble into. It’s something we quietly earn, not with one grand decision, but with hundreds of ordinary ones. A walk instead of sitting on the couch. Choosing a Pilates class instead of another excuse. 

Keep moving.

I’ve always said yes to life and I think my positive nature has served me well. Now I’m learning that embracing life also means taking care of the life you’re embracing.

There are trails to hike, stories to write and countries I’d still like to visit. And if I play my cards right, there’s another adventure waiting somewhere in my distant future . . . as long as I keep moving.