Ann and I took up backcountry skiing at the beginning of the winter.

We started out clumsily. There’s no more elegant way to say it. Skins. Bindings. Transitions. Climbing technique. Figuring out how to move uphill without feeling like we were fighting the mountain the entire way.

But we got better quickly.

Soon we were skinning up trails through the woods, finding quiet places away from the crowded ski areas, and skiing down challenging lines in deep powder. We worked hard. We laughed a lot. We came home tired in the best possible way.

We finished the season in Tuckerman Ravine.

It was a spectacular winter. And I didn’t want to let it go. So to ease the transition, I went to REI and bought a gravel bike.

Now, I’d never ridden a gravel bike. I’d never biked off road. I had no idea what I was doing. Which, honestly, was part of the appeal.

When I told a dear friend about my plan, he looked at me and said, “At your age?”

The question stung a bit. Not a lot. But enough.

It has never occurred to me that one could age out of adventure. It had never occurred to me that beginning something new required a permission slip. Or that curiosity had an expiration date.

I know my friend meant well. I’m sure he was thinking about risk. Falls. Injuries. The long list of things that can go wrong when we step outside the familiar.

Risk is real. But so is regret.

And as I thought about it, I realized his question was probably more about him than it was about me. His fears. His limiting beliefs. His sense of what’s appropriate at a certain stage of life.

We all carry those stories. Some of them are handed to us. Some we pick up along the way. Some sneak in quietly while we’re busy “being responsible.”

But they can shrink a life. They can convince us that there’s a time to begin and a time to stop beginning.

I don’t believe that.

Life is short. The seasons pass quickly. Winter gives way to spring. Spring gives way to summer. One day, if we’re lucky, we look around and realize that the only life we get is the one we’re living right now.

So start the business. Go back to school. Write the book. Take the trip. Fall in love again.

Yes, buy the bike.

Not because it’s safe. Not because it’s sensible. Not because everyone will understand.

But because something in you still wants to be alive.

Aging happens. Decay is optional.

So whatever it is for you, begin it.

At your age?

Yup. Especially at your age.