Some of you are in your teens or 20 something, and to you the number of years you've gathered here on earth is remarkably incidental. Collecting years is no more on your mind than collecting string. Yeah, well, live it up.

Turning 30 will probably get your attention (Who am I, where am I going, and why aren't I there yet?) And the big 40 is always good for a few wisecracks, nervous laughs and at least six months of restlessness and doubt (Where did my life go?).

Not everyone embraces the 40s with open arms (they hide in the closet), and those truly wonderful years can cause a good man or woman to do some really strange things; they submit to nips n' tucks, buy a sports car and chase the opposite sex. There's consuming introspection and, not infrequently, the bottle nestled in the bottom of the desk drawer.

Of all our pathetic blunders, the strangest and most disturbing to me is losing those priceless years trying to save them. We need not resist the passing of time, as if lives were slipping by and we were diminishing. That is to support the misperception of aging, to feed fear it and become its victim. Big mistake like allowing a child to kick and scream to get their way. Discipline the spoiled brat.

My plea: go forward with your life with renewed purpose and passion for crying out loud, and the youth that left will reappear. I say, start planning your life and discover real discipline. Stop grumbling about your midlife daydreams. Grasp your future with willing hands. Stand up. Be strong. Today!

Things don't go from bad to worse. They go from better than you think to terrific. The years of your life add up, yes, but you can add years to your life. Youth isn't wasted on the young, nor are the 40s and 50s wasted on the middle aged. You're in control at the prime of your life with all you need to know. Fix what's broke and soup up what's working'. Zoom, zoom. We got places to go and things to do.

I have a special affection for those middle years, 40 to 50, because I beat my 30s, that season of princes and princesses, repeatedly, yet was reborn in the 10 years that followed. I was 42, to be exact, when I got to my feet, dusted my self off, surveyed the burned out territory upon which I stood and started walking forward, one step at a time, and became one of the partners of a new start up company with revolutionary technology. So much for my second try at retirement. Oh, it lasted six months this time. The 40s are really good

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