Look, it’s me being all, like, pensive and grown up and crap like that. Don’t worry, it won’t last.
I was going to write some massive retrospective of my life to date here, being that 35 is the Biblical midpoint of life, but I’ve tried starting it three times now, and even I can’t swallow the crap I was writing, which means I certainly can’t inflict it on you. So let’s just pretend I said something funny and insightful and full of wisdom about being a grown-up and living life and being glad for a span of years that actually lets you appreciate more about the world than just yourself. Because I guarantee you what you’re imagining I wrote is a damn sight better than what I actually was writing. Restraint. That’s a key to a writer’s success.
Frankly, I have no wisdom to impart. But I’ll have you know I’m both gratified and somewhat relieved to have made it to age 35 only to discover that I have the coolest wife in the history of wives, the greatest kid yet spawned, and a career that a) is actually what I wanted to do when I grew up and b) has yet to show signs of stalling out from under me. There may in fact be ways that my life could be better. But off the top of my head it’s difficult to think of how without coming across as entirely selfish and ungrateful. So I won’t try. I’ve been unfathomably lucky in this life, and I think I’ll spend the rest of this life working to earn out the karmic credit I’ve been advanced to date. That’s fair.
In short: Life is good. To those of you who have been part of it, I thank you. Now, let’s keep going. Lots to do. Lots to see.