Be assured, I write this with a smile on my face. I'm pretty thick-skinned. But I'd be lying if I didn't confess that my poor family has had to deal with a little sulking all week long. Some of it was simply denial. Everyone has a perfect age. My lovely wife will always be 29. But me? I'm really an old man at heart. 40 kinda feels like the beginning of becoming the old fart I was always meant to be.
Enough of feeling sorry for myself! For some reason, I woke up this morning (at 4 a.m. like all old men do), went for a run and realized that I was totally free from the funk I had been in. It felt a little like New Year's Day. I had started the week a little disappointed that I was leaving my thirties behind not having accomplished all I wanted to. But this morning I woke up done with that, realizing there's no time to waste worrying about what's left undone. There's lots still to do. Now I can stop worrying about whether or not someone else approves, or whether it's cool, or whether anyone else likes it. Because I'm forty f#@%ing years old and I'll do what I like (and get off my lawn, dammit!)! I want to make more art, play music again, travel more, get more ink, write more, help more churches thrive and start a few projects I've just been too scared to (Notice how I didn't say what those are? Still scared.).
So, here's to the next decade! May I kick it's ass.
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