I turn 42 today and feel happy about life, my life in particular. As much as I try to lead everyone else’s lives, I have deliberately blazed my path. If life is a salad bar, I heaped my plate with all the foods.
I have lived abroad three times, played saxophone (poorly) in a marching band, received (won) a Ph. D, adventured to Burning Man12 times, flown up in a Turkish hot air balloon, savored the sweetness of both sexes, driven ten-thousand miles alone across twenty-nine states, played a mean game of golf, and built countless light-up costumes. My story has many chapters, more of which I hope I am still drafting.
For these adventure, I traded away wealth, career glory, and roots. I am neither a vice president nor the owner of a mansion and a yacht (Bugs Bunny). As much as I lament my lack of conventional status, I should be aware that I march decidedly differently.
I ran yesterday eleven miles from my apartment to the ocean past a windmill, Haight-Ashbury, and two lucky buffalo. I’m forty-two and my body has finally matured. I’m grateful for my health, my heart, and impeccable good looks. I am so fortunate to be me. Health is a genetic gamble, but I work hard to improve my body and straighten my back.
I’m 42 and just starting to realize what is important: friends, experiences, and experiences with friends. Material goods wear out or get neglected. Work lapses ever on to the next job. What remains are wonderful friends.
Most important, I share 42 with two brothers Ray and John. They are my two most special people in the world. We turn a collective 126 today. Be well, be well, be well. I am so grateful.