On the cusp of my 41st birthday, it’s inevitable that a certain amount of
melancholy or nostalgic regret seizes my attention. At least, that’s the cold
and clinical way I’d normally frame it, given my disposition. In reality,
being 40 wasn’t so bad. My life is decidedly not perfect, but perfect is the
enemy of good.
It’s hard not to consider though, the path that led me here.
First, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who managed to come to the party on the 22nd. Richard and Bettina, you didn’t drink nearly enough, but you provided me with reading material, so all is forgiven.
At precisely 11:16PM tonight, I’ll have persisted upon this world for a grand-total of three decades. To understand the true significance of this, I believe I should clarify.