Turning 35

Today, I turn 35. Just over the half-way point for the world’s average life expectancy. In the latter half of the 1800s, I would be old by any reasonable measure of the term. As late as the turn of the 20th century I would be at the statistical end-of-life at this ripe old age.

Coincidentally, today marks the day that I had always blithely referred to as beyond my life expectancy— as in, “Yeah, like I’ll see 35…” I am grateful that the idiotic dalliances with chemicals and people that were the principle characteristics of my youth didn’t rob me of the chance to celebrate my three and one-half decades of life with friends and family.

I generally don’t celebrate my birthday—not because I’m ashamed of aging, but because I’m genuinely embarrassed by such a me-centric event (as discussed a couple of birthdays ago[1]—but last night at an evening out with friend, I was surprised with a birthday celebration; the first I recall ever having. It really meant a lot…more than I’d have ever realized, and I appreciate it.

So today I’ll celebrate the happy event in which my cheat day and my birthday coincide by over eating and demanding attention and overt displays of affection—or, you know, business as usual :)