I turn 40 in two days. I remember turning 20 and, in the overdramatic way of my youth, I felt old and directionless. I would like to pat that poor kid on the back. And then slap him upside the head.
I wanted to publish a novel by the time I was 40. I don’t think that’s happening. But, on the positive side, during my first 40 years I did learn how to walk and feed myself. These are important achievements too.
Is it a cliché to say I don’t feel old? If anything, I feel right. Hell, I’ll say it. I feel happy. Are we cool kids (what do you mean I’m not a cool kid?) allowed to admit to happiness? I have a wonderful wife and wonderful children and a wonderful home. I go on wonderful vacations. I have wonderful friends. I have better and truer friends now than I’ve ever had.
In those overdramatic days I used to say I wouldn’t mind dying before I was 30. Seriously, I’m going to go give that kid a stern knock on the noggin.
I want to live forever.
At least if it stays like it is now. Which it won’t. But at least I get to be here. Because now that here IS here, it will always be here, in the way the past forever remains present.
Part of me wishes I had some profound insight about moving into the next decade of my life. Part of me knows there’s no need. Next week will be the same as this one. And that’s cool. I can still publish a novel before I’m 42.