Me at 43

Birthday flowers from my girlfriend I am 8 days into my 44th year. I intended to write a post on my birthday ... but I couldn't. I have always been moved to write and find that when I force myself it usually becomes an episode of me sitting in a chair bouncing up every 5 - 10 minutes to feed the dog, change the laundry, let the dog out, go to the bathroom, make lunch, check email, pay the bills, fold the laundry ... and ends in a very low word count with very high frustration. It works best when it comes to me organically. So I waited. I waited for 8 days. Then when I was driving home from the gym today I realized something. When I was younger my birthday was potential: expectations for excitment, surprises accompanied a buoyed feeling of being older. Don't get me wrong - I am not hung up on my age (although I am less fond of the "11" wrinkle I have between my eyes than I ever have been before) - I don't mind the years piling up, but my birthday no lon...