Last year, I wrote a monstrous post about all the deep realizations I had regarding life as a 38-year-old. Strangely, I don’t feel much of anything as I stand on the brink of 39. Not that much has changed since last year, as far as my feelings about age are concerned: The thought of turning 40 still bugs me; 39 is just a stop along the way.
While my actual birthday isn’t stirring much in me this year, I still have plenty of things to think about as the big four-oh looms in the distance. I have a daughter who’s not even six months old yet, so there are baby challenges. With the ages of my other children ranging from 10 to 3 right now, my wife and I will basically being running the gamut as far as child-raising issues are concerned this year. And, of course, all this will come in the midst of my still trying to figure out how to be a grown-up, something I haven’t managed to accomplish in the previous 38 years.
I could actually sum up my feelings about 39 in three words: One more year. Come tomorrow, I’ve only got one more year to accomplish all those things I wanted to before I turned 40. And that realization comes with the even harsher reality that if I haven’t gotten all those things done over the course of 38 years, what makes me think I’ll get all done in one?
So forgive me if I don’t feel particularly reflective this year. I have a feeling I’m going to be doing enough walking down memory lane as it is this year. Thirty-nine is here. See you at 40.