Another year. Whoo.
I hear folks say you’re done celebrating anything but the decades after 21 or 25. I’m told Adults don’t do Birthday Parties. There are 20 million (or so) LIVING people born on this day, so the 26th of June is not special and neither am I.
But I think things are good and a little gratitude is in order, so I’m going to drag out my soapbox anyway. Consider it my favorite indulgence in a benign form.
Okay, third or fourth favorite. But it’s still early for a drink, I’m limiting myself to one cigar a day, and…well, anyway…
My wife is in London today. Later this week she’ll be in Paris. We meet in San Francisco after that. It’s a tough life.
I’m content. I’ve got good friends, a happy family, and a job that I basically made up for myself. I get to take summer vacation for my birthday and I get to do what I want most of the time.
I need to spend the next year getting my health in check. I’m not actually unhealthy, but I got fat and that’s going to be a problem if I don’t reverse course NOW. I’ll have to be more deliberate in how I eat and exercise, but I think it’s reasonable to drop five pounds a month for the next year. If I can do seven pounds a month I’m going to write a book and post pictures of my abs and annoy people with dietary advice and back-handed compliments.
I’m also going to put the mid-life crisis on hold until 49. Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to trying tooth whitener and driving a Corvette, but I just want to check a few more boxes before I go back to embarrassing myself via stunted self-awareness on a regular basis.
For now: I appreciate all of the people who took time out of what is (for them) just another day to say “Happy Birthday.” A combination of good fortune, luck, and some sweat on my part has given me a life that is both more complicated and more rewarding than I could have imagined. My wife is a treasure, my kids make me proud, my friends give me hope, and everyone who took a minute to say something kind keep it all working for me.