The kind of mulligan I’m referring to doesn’t involve a small dimpled ball, but it does equate to a definite sense of something shifting toward second chances, or simply, a do-over. Like taking a mulligan when your original aim sends your ball bouncing and skidding off the cart path into the brambles. Life can be like just like this, an unforgiving golf course, unceremoniously kicking you square in the golf balls at times so we should not be too proud to take our mulligans where we can get them.

But there it was, the mandate of midlife had been writ, described as the period from 45–55 years in one’s span of being. Then, I remembered something about myself. Considered to be a late bloomer, I metaphorically calculated, I should only, now, be entering this mulligan of midlife and since50 is the new 40 and so on, I most certainly am, still within the grace period and could argue this fact to the highest court in the land. Part of this aging game is mindset, so I’m re-setting mine.

The idea of midlife mulligans occurred to me today, as I’m loading my kayak and gathering various accessories for an afternoon on the nearby river. I am giddy and it feels like I’m having a second childhood, but with key adult features, like choices. This is the built in mulligan I’m referring to. No putt- putt holes in one to celebrate, but a definite sense of something shifting towards an unearned grace period.