Dreaming Out Loud: On Becoming a Rabbi at Age 59 is the title of the book I’ve been writing, on and off, for the last ten years. Mostly off.

I’m 69 now, as of tomorrow morning. I was born on the date the Declaration of Independence was signed, although the Founding Fathers didn’t get around to publicizing it for another two days. They were worried about how things would turn out.

That seems quaint to us today, but those were turbulent times, and they knew their declaration would bring trouble.

Looking back is always easier than predicting the future, and trying to control it is especially futile. A seemingly inconsequential decision can change the course of an entire life.

When I was contemplating rabbinical school in my early fifties, I complained to a friend that I would be 60 when I graduated. She pointed out that I was going to be 60 anyway, so why not be a rabbi too?

It turned out to be the tipping point. Better yet, I beat the deadline by a full six months.

It also turned out that I love being a rabbi. It has been both an honor and a joy. Even now, as I slow down, cut back, and work less than full-time, I have never regretted the decision.

The question that inevitably arises—at least for me—is: What next? I stand on the cusp of another stage of life. How do I want to spend this next decade?

It’s still a mystery.

To celebrate both the mystery and the anticipation, I decided to tattoo a phoenix on my ankle.

Yes, yes, I know all about Judaism’s aversion to tattoos. But if you know me at all, you know that wasn’t going to stop me. If Orthodox rabbis can tell women it’s permissible to get nose jobs to feel psychologically whole, I can certainly have my phoenix.

What this birthday feels like is not an ending, but another beginning. The phoenix is a reminder that we are capable of becoming renewed, again and again.

It’s a theme that runs through Judaism, as well as my own life. I wrote recently about Naomi, shepherding Ruth to a new life and finding one for herself as well. The Children of Israel becoming a people, now with our own country. Modern adults exploring Judaism, and my role in helping make that happen through my newest endeavor, the Jewish Open Tent.

In truth, we are never finished becoming.

I’ve been writing that book for 10 years, and today I’m beginning the next chapter. At 69, I don’t know what comes next.

But I’m still dreaming out loud.