Fifty: reflections from a hotel balcony
It's just past 9 PM, and I'm sitting on my hotel balcony, wrapped in a blanket against the January chill. The lights of Jerusalem spread out before me, a tapestry of gold and white against the night sky. Fifty years old. The words still feel strange in my mind.
This morning began with that magical walk to the Western Wall, watching the faithful at their prayers as the sun rose. I stood there, feeling the weight of millennia pressing against my fingertips as I touched those ancient stones. What are fifty years against the backdrop of such history?
The Argentine couple from breakfast insisted on treating me to dinner tonight. "No one should dine alone on their birthday," María declared when she spotted me in the lobby around 6 PM. What started as a simple meal became a three-hour conversation about life, travel, faith, and the strange ways our paths cross when we're open to the journey.
Carlos and María have been married for 47 years. They saved for fifteen years to make this pilgrimage to the Holy Land. "At our age," Carlos told me, "we know this is probably our only chance to see these places we've read about our entire lives."
When I mentioned my restlessness, my constant urge to move on after just a few days in each place, María shook her head. "You're running," she said simply. "But from what? That's what you need to discover."
I didn't have an answer. Perhaps that's why I'm out here now, watching the city lights flicker while mentally counting down the 364 days I have left of this journey.
The military drill I'd heard about on the news was evident today - military vehicles moving through parts of the city, causing brief traffic delays as I made my way back from the Old City this afternoon. The hotel staff assured guests it was routine, but I noticed the slight tension in their voices.
Tomorrow, I think I'll finally make that trip to the Dead Sea. It's been on my list since arriving, and the weather forecast shows it might be one of the better days coming up. The front desk clerk told me the first bus leaves at 7 AM - which means I'll aim to be at the station by 6:50.
Fifty. Half a century. When I set out on this journey 136 days ago, I thought reaching this milestone while traveling would feel momentous, transformative. Instead, it feels like any other day, just with more candles and kind strangers singing in various accents.
Perhaps that's the lesson. Life doesn't transform in dramatic leaps but continues as a journey, one step following another. The Western Wall has stood for centuries, witness to countless prayers and tears. My fifty years are but a blink in comparison.
I find myself strangely comfortable with not knowing what comes next. The Dead Sea tomorrow, yes, but beyond that? The remaining 364 days stretch before me, unwritten pages waiting to be filled.
The night has grown cooler, and I can see clouds gathering on the horizon. The weather report mentioned possible rain tomorrow. I should sleep - the bus won't wait for latecomers.
Fifty years. Five decades. And still so much world to see.