So today I turned 40. Holy smokes.

It’s actually not so bad. The nearest thing I’m having to a mid-life crisis is listening to The Clash’s first album in the headphones as I start my work day. But that’s just an indulgence.

I definitely learned something at 30. I hated turning 30, went into complete denial. No party. No celebration. Just a quiet dinner with Sam. Thirty really felt old. But afterwards I regretted not celebrating it somehow and vowed that at 40 I wouldn’t make the same mistake.

And somehow I’m not. Big party planned for tonight. But more importantly, I feel comfortable at 40. In fact, it’s a bit of a release. As you progress into the decades, the peripheral distractions slip to the sides and that pressure of time lets you focus on the things you really want to.

Sounds good at least.

Happy Birthday Me.