Well, damn! There was a time in my early 20s when I was convinced I was going to kill myself on my 30th birthday because I knew life pretty much hit the downslope at that point.
I got married one month before my 29th birhday, after a decade of attempting to make “30 with a Bullet” a self-fulfilling prophecy. Had my first kid shortly after my 31st birthday, the second after turning 33. Thanks to Salomé’s inhuman patience, we’re still married after nine years, and thanks to her good genes, we have two beautiful kids. (I take partial credit.)
I’ve yet to hit my stride as a writer though I’ve been fortunate enough to have a handful of publication credits under my belt, a brief but exciting performance “career”, and the sheer joy of seeing the reading series I founded flourish and on the verge of celebrating its 10th anniversary next Spring.
I’ve got a small group of close friends I’d take a bullet for, and a somewhat larger group for whom I’d seek revenge.
I’ve been through more ups and downs over the past 38 years than is reasonable, thanks to at least half of the downs being of own doing, but I’m probably in as good a place overall as I’ve ever been. Life ain’t perfect, but it is good.
More than anything, though, I am truly thankful for the many things I do have; the important things: family, friends, health, and a renewed passion for life. Suddenly, 40, 50, etc, isn’t a concern at all.
Happy birthday to me!