I became independent sometime around the age of 19. I hit the open road on a motorbike and went to the South of France. I had the wind in my hair (no crash helmet) and I was free. I was no longer dependent on my parents for food and shelter. My ego was on the loose! I was a cocky, arrogant fella who was hiding all kinds of pain.
Now fifty years later I can see that I’m not independent at all, but that I’m not dependent either. I’ve reached an age where I can see a web of connections around me and that I’m inter-dependent with everything. My ego still wants a say but it’s riding pillion most of the time. I find that I have entered a more soulful period as I enter the evening of my life. This is one of the blessings of reaching 70!