Running Against All Odds: The Secret to Staying on the Road
- Maggie Wallem Rowe
- Jun 16
- 3 min read
AUDIO LETTER (Video at the end)
Do you ever wonder whether you’re past the years of contributing something meaningful to the world?
Does our western culture elevate the importance of youth, while diminishing the contributions of those of us in our first senior years, our second half of life, our third trimester?
Clichés abound—those of us of a certain age are sometimes dubbed washed up, over the hill, put out to pasture.
I wouldn’t be writing these letters if I believed that.
Dateline: José Marti International Airport, Havana, Cuba. Late May 2025.
Midday temperature? Soaring into the 90’s. Humidity? Legendary.
Remember not to drink the water, we were told repeatedly. No matter how hot it gets or thirsty you become, resist filling your bottle anywhere but at your lodging. The water is contaminated, and you will get sick.
Unless you’ve just joined us on Substack (welcome to our Seasoned Soul community!), you know that I recently traveled to Cuba as part of a team bringing water filters and hope to a people in desperate need of both.
As we exited the terminal and loaded our bags into a van, we had a decision to make. The nonprofit organization sponsoring our trip had arranged for ground transportation, but there were too many of us to fit into one vehicle.
Would we choose to ride in an air-conditioned 15-passenger van or a 1955 Plymouth, faded to the color of putty, held together with duct tape, baling wire, and faith?
You know me too well.
That ’55 sedan and I became good buddies during my days in Havana. I stuck to her cracked vinyl seat on my way to Sunday service, fanned myself as we delivered water filters, peered around fissures in the windshield on the return trip to José Marti. Waited, each time, for our driver, Santiago, to let us out since the interior handles disappeared sometime in the 70’s.
I loved that car.
You know precisely why, of course. I am fond of anything vintage: cars, clothing, people. Especially people.
That car had seen stuff, y’all! It was still new when the 1959 Cuban Revolution forever changed the face of this island nation. (“The idea behind the rebellion was to close the gap between the rich and the poor,” a Cuban friend told us, “And it worked. Now we are all poor.”)
Sure, that Plymouth was showing signs of wear. It has for decades, just like me. When friends send photos of shared events from our past, I’m shocked at how much older I look now. The aging process seems to accelerate in the third trimester of life. Cracks and dents, lines and muscle loss multiply. And my paint is chipping all over the place.
But we are witnesses to each other’s resilience, that Plymouth and me. Mileage really is just a number. Age does not determine usefulness. That’s good news for all of us —even my now middle-aged adult children.
And because nothing, not even a well-loved vehicle, lasts forever, someday that vintage car is destined for the junk heap, the scrap yard. But here’s the difference between us: I’m not. And neither are you.
My Maker has a different destination planned for me. And for you. One day we will become wholly whole. Wholly his. Wholly new.
I resist, even now, calling my Cuban ride an “old car.” It’s younger than I am. Of course it still runs!
And so must we, friends. The road stretches before us, and Ecclesiastes reminds us that the race does not belong to the swift nor the battle to the strong.
We don’t have to be the fastest or the fanciest, the strongest or the smartest. We just have to keep running.
And when we cross the finish line, let’s hold space for tears for one another and also applause, yes? We’ll have earned both.
I love you, friends.
Maggie
IT’S YOUR TURN
If you’re in midlife or beyond, what is one thing you appreciate about the season you’re in? (Or the seasoning your soul has received.) Please share with the rest of us! I'd love to have your input.