Ruminations On My Birthday
Today is my birthday. I'm 37. It's been a long time since I've been excited about my birthday and this year is really no different. It's just a day that reminds me of my impending mortality. I very much appreciate the well wishes and folks who say, "Happy birthday!" I appreciate those who choose to sing the song a bit less, though. Heh.
The numerologist in me hasn't been looking forward to 37. I'm sure it's just an over-active imagination, but something really good happened to me when I was seven. The year I turned 17 might have been the worst year of my life, for a variety of reasons. Ten years ago was arguably the best. That's when I married Nancy. So, if the pattern holds, this year's gonna suck. But I also am realistic enough to know that nothing in the past really effects the future. What effects it is the present. I'm happy, healthy, have a wonderful family and a good job that I'm passionate about. If something goes wrong, it'll be my fault probably. So I'll take what comes and hope for the best. Don't get me wrong. I'm not melancholy about having a birthday. I like the attention, as demure as I may be playing it off. But when you really think about it, there's only one thing that changes on your birthday. It's the number on your obituary.
