Tuesday morning, Toby Keith’s “Don’t Let the Old Man In” stayed with me long after the song ended. I’d already posted for the day, but some truths don’t knock once—they linger until you listen.

Here in Port Isabel, where the Gulf breeze softens the edges of time and the sun seems to rise with quiet permission, that message lands differently. Not as denial of age—but as an invitation to remain awake to life.

It’s easy to let routine harden into habit. To mistake comfort for completion. To let the days blur into something safe but smaller. That’s the moment the “old man” slips in—not through years, but through surrender.

Much of my writing over the past few years—Stillness in the Storm, Big Enough Now, Effortless Power, No Regrets, Waves, Wind, and Wisdom, A Season in the Sun, and so many others—has circled the same truth:
You don’t stay young by denying time. You stay alive by choosing presence.

Today brought its share of small challenges, along with quiet grace. Our neighbor Mike paused his own work to help me untangle a technical issue—no fuss, no hesitation. Just kindness. Port Isabel has a way of reminding us that community isn’t built through big gestures, but through showing up when no one’s watching.

Melody, as always, grounded the day with her simple, steady wisdom. She has a way of bringing me back to what matters—love that’s practiced daily, joy that doesn’t need announcing, and the kind of partnership that makes the ordinary feel sacred. Many of my books exist because of moments like that—moments where life whispered instead of shouted.

Later, under a wide Texas sky, we raised a glass to nothing in particular and everything at once. To sunsets that don’t repeat themselves. To friendships that feel earned. To the grace of being here, now.

The pool and hot tub waited, the air hovered around 70 degrees, and for a while the world asked nothing more of us than to be present. These are the moments I’ve written toward—again and again—not because they’re dramatic, but because they’re fleeting.

Don’t Let the Old Man In isn’t about resisting age.
It’s about refusing resignation.
It’s about choosing curiosity over cynicism, gratitude over entitlement, and engagement over retreat.

If there’s a single thread running through all 34 of my books, it’s this:
Life doesn’t ask us to stay young. It asks us to stay awake.

And here, in this season, under this sky—we are.