Pottery: It's Been Three Years

I went to my weekly pottery lesson this morning, and it occurred to me while I was there that I started just three years ago. I enjoy it so much, that I can't help wishing that I had begun long ago, that I hadn't dropped the pottery class I was taking at Greenwich House because I was the only boy in it, that I didn't get deep into pottery when I was a young man, instead of following an academic, literary, intellectual path that hasn't really taken me anywhere I actually wanted to go.
Of course the wise part of my mind dismisses those fantasies out of hand. Not only that, instead of lamenting, "Why did I get to it so late?" it says: "Isn't it wonderful that a man in his sixties could have begun a totally new activity and gotten involved in it?" I might discover other wonderful activities before I get sick and die!
Anyway, could anyone, looking back at his or her life from the middle of its seventh decade, say,"The path I took was right for me; I am just where I hoped to be when I began"? Wouldn't that be rather dull? I knew just where I wanted to go, I found the right road, and I got there. Where are the surprises?
My skill in pottery is definitely increasing, and I'm actually pleased with some of the things I've made - though, as always, the maker is more aware of the flaws and shortcomings than anyone else. I'm improving at making the clay do what I want it to do - though I'm far from consistent, which doesn't actually displease me. Sometimes the fun lies in exploiting an error, in turning a project that was supposed to have been a jug into a bowl.
From the start I had the attitude that I wasn't trying to produce perfect pottery. You can buy perfect factory made dishes and vases in any department store. A handmade pot should look handmade. Also, in decorating the pots, I know my limits as a painter. If I tried to do dainty flowers and birds, they would just look silly.
Finally, I keep reminding myself that the whole point is that I'm doing it for fun, for the pleasure of doing it - not a trivial kind of pleasure, but the deep pleasure of molding useful and sometimes handsome vessels with my hands, the sense of communication I have with all the people who have made pots for thousands of years.