I turned forty years old on August 29. I don’t usually care about birthdays. To be honest I usually dread them for whatever reason. This birthday felt like a milestone. It brought with it all sorts of existential thoughts about crossing the bridge of youth into the second half of adulthood. Forty seems symbolic because my mind still thinks I’m in my twenties, but my knees and graying hair remind me that those days are long gone. To my friends a few summers ahead of me in their fifties, sixties, and seventies, they see my bellyaching as amusing, I’m sure. “You have tons of life ahead of you” they’ll say. God willing, I hope they’re right. Middle-aged was just never a title I thought I’d carry. I just assumed a sniper or a viper would have gotten me by now, but here I am.
Thanks bro, and yea with that one it’s like sometimes I write stuff to convince myself more than anyone else and I figure if I write it I’ve got to now live it.
Fantastic essay, man!! That 4th paragraph reeled me in!
Thanks bro, and yea with that one it’s like sometimes I write stuff to convince myself more than anyone else and I figure if I write it I’ve got to now live it.
Looking forward to the poopoo articles, Stan.
Hahahahahahhaha “this one time…in Iraq…didn’t make it to porta John…” 😁
lol noted