As I free-fall from the upper-end of life's longevity curve, where acceleration is but a term without much meaning, I rejoice in but two things: first I blame most of my faults on ignorance, a term used most inconspicuously as a cover-up for some bad timing not of our choosing; and second, I hope to be traveling so fast near the end of my journey that I will barely notice the transition from sliding to gliding.

Why? Because details can spoil the big picture. It's the ride that matters. And maybe I can avoid the big splash as the unavoidable, inevitable crescendo to a tale that was grudgingly not worth the ride – at least not by cost of the fare.

I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth. So I did not have fancy cars, steel guitars, and an eminent domain one-half the size of Texas as my personal playground. My entry was accompanied by one of those half numbers (like 127 and 1/2 Nowhere St.) meaning somewhere "in the back, near the trash cans, in a rat-infested alley."

Growing up could not have been more joyless – especially when you factor in squalor, hunger, dirt, and insatiable lice. I can't put the blame on anyone other than "the devil" who must have worked overtime freeloading from his perch on my left shoulder while dreaming up "stuff for losers" that would not pass muster in the depths of hell – if such a place existed, which it does not.

I won't bore you with tales of life from 20 to 50, mainly because those are the harvesting years -- when the fruits of our labors show the most. Along the way I pulled some very clever stuff from my small bag of tricks that allowed me to accelerate past my peers during this time frame while others were basking in the pleasures of life. Those bits of "wisdom" allowed me to draw from the past right when I needed it most. And I did not need to cheat. But they came at a price, one that I am still paying albeit grudgingly.

Suffice to say, there is no substitute for the best answer: it's known everywhere by sinners and saints as pure, unadulterated love. To be sure, we all fall short of the glory of God. We can also write about our shortcomings, but writing too often counts mostly in activities like "horseshoes" and "hand grenades," as a wise fellow traveler once cautioned me. In my experience life is also like an inclined treadmill – the steeper the incline, the harder the task – right when we need to call on strength and the elements of experience the most.

But it's that final slope on the downhill side of life that can carry us home. The one that separates the weak from the strong, the committed from the onlooker, and the risk-taker from the weak. It consists of trust, kindness, caring, understanding, loving, and forgiving. Some learn about these attributes early in life. Others learn about them from the school of hard knocks. And still others rely on the ubiquity of an epiphany to show them the way. I am not a preacher, so I will go with trust – a trait that's hard to acquire, and easy to lose.

That is my tale of courage by the incorrigible, facts for the irascible, and research by the ambulatory.