My 43rd year is coming to an end and, like all passages one undertakes, I look forward to the coming year with some anticipation and a smidgen of nervousness. In just a couple of hours I will turn 44. If I were furniture I would probably qualify as "mid-century modern". These past couple of days I've already received advance greetings - someone even sent me a bottle of chardonnay this morning (2002 Mcguigan from Australia). Publicly, I affect a blase attitude about all this. As I've been telling advance greeters these past days, it's rude to remind me that I'm on my last two days of being 32 years old.
But - and we've heard this before - birthdays are special and should take on added significance the older one gets. It's a time to count one's battle scars and wonder that one still stands. It's a time to remember past hurts and put these into perspective - they're not so bad after all and life does have a way of providing a healing salve. It's also a time for affirmation, that the person who is celebrating another year past (and another year coming) is still, for all intents and purposes, a great person who can still bench press 120 lbs. - I'm hitting the gym first thing tomorrow; laugh at himself; and try to be a good father to an adorable five year old daughter.
Happy birthday, dude.
Andrew Sullivan says blogging — 7 hours a day, day after day — "was killing me." - And that's why he quit. Quit if you need to, and I appreciate what you gave us over the years, Andrew, but *7 hours* of work a day is just not that grueli...
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