Earlier today (yesterday, actually), I sketched out a swooping blog entry on turning the big 3-8, otherwise known in my subjective reality as the big 4-0 minus two. As of 12:33 AM on my birthday, August 20th, 2013 I have decided to scrap it. ‘Cause really, what more do I need to say about getting older that I haven’t already said a dozen times before in a dozen different ways? I have a bit more gray in my hair and my beard… okay, I have a LOT more of both as well as this one, pesky gray chest hair that keeps coming back no matter how many times I pull it. I have a few more aches and pains than I did at this time last year. Yadda, yadda, yadda… I’m sure you get the picture.
But do you know what, guys? Everyone gets older. It’s a natural fact of life. It starts from the day we’re born and it progresses onward and upward until the day, hopefully decades hence when we leave this life for whatever comes next. I’m no different than any of you reading this, right now. I’ve accomplished a lot in my now 38 year existence on this side of the proverbial wormhole of existence. I’m married with two beautiful daughters; I’m a published author, albeit a self-published one; I have a steady job and a loving circle of extended family and friends that I would not trade for, to employ one of William MacNuff’s old cliches, “all the tea in China” (despite the fact that William has no idea what or where China is). For the most part, I’ve spent the last decade plus as a living and breathing facsimile of a smiley face and save for one or two vices–smoking, and the occasional drink to name two–and a few minor health issues I’m in pretty good shape. So why lament getting older? Did I think I was going to be 25 for the rest of my life? Survey says: H-e-double hockey sticks no.
So I’m not going to write some long and meandering preponderance on aging. In truth, I’m not really struggling that much with the age-thing, presently. Instead, I am officially going to go “against the grain” and declare today a day of affirmation for me, a pseudo-madman, residing on one side of the proverbial wormhole of existence. Why? I’m glad you asked.
About an hour ago (it’s now 1:26 AM). I stepped outside onto my stoop to have my customary first birthday cigarette. It’s a practice that I’ve adhered to for many, many years: I sit on my stoop, I smoke, and I think. I ponder where I’ve been and where I’m going. I hadn’t intended tonight to be any different than years past but guess what? No sooner had I stepped outside into the cool, yet humid night air than I realized the moon was either Full, or a day or two away from it. So I broke out my trusty smartphone and guess what? August 20th, 2013 is the day of August’s Full Moon. But it’s not just any Full Moon. It’s a Blue Moon, i.e. the third Full Moon in a season with four total (most seasons only have three).
I know that that is not the popular definition of a “Blue Moon.” The popular definition of it is the second Full Moon in a single calendar month but… and I’m sorry to burst your bubble, amateur star gazers… that’s not an entirely accurate definition. The first is the actual, traditional definition (CITATION). So August 20th, 2013 is a traditional, Blue Moon. A rare occurrence that spiritually (correct me if I’m wrong) signifies a purging, i.e. emotional, physical et al.
So I got to thinking: What better time to purge myself of my age-old preconceptions about aging and my birthday? Why not embrace it rather than rage against it? Survey says: Why the f*ck not?
So I decided. I came inside, sat down, fired up my lap top and started typing. Which brings me to “right here, right now,” and there truly is no other place that I’d rather be. Shortly, I’ll finish this little “quick hit,” head upstairs and go to sleep. And when I wake up? I’ll be spending my birthday with my girls. I already got to share midnight with my wife, Nicole. She gave me my first birthday gift: An interchangeable Sonic Screwdriver with 80 different, potential combinations to “customize my Doctor Who experience.” While some of you reading this may not appreciate that as much as others understand that it is, hands down, one of the coolest birthday gifts I’ve ever gotten and I am incredibly thankful to Nicole for getting it for me. Booyakasha, sweetie. RESPECT. I love you.
Later today, we are making an early sojourn to the zoo with our minions (pre-things heating up here in southeastern Pennsylvania) to check out the new kid’s center there. Thereafter? Well, I’m not really sure what the rest of the day is going to hold but I’m open to any and every possibility. I’m going to cherish every second… every minute, and every hour because I can. I should. Because birthdays are supposed to be fun, right? Somewhere along the way, I forgot that. Early onset dementia? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Disillusionment seems a more likely possibility. I’ve disillusioned myself into thinking that my birthday is a bad thing, i.e. it’s just another day, another number and another step closer to the big 4-0, the big 5-0 and onward and upward until the “D” word arrives.
No longer, though. Today, I am the big 3-8, otherwise known as the big 4-0 minus two. And I’m okay with that. I’m okay with the extra gray in my hair and my beard and that lone gray chest hair that just won’t. Go. AWAY no matter how many times I “prick” it. I’m okay with a few minor aches and pains. Because I’m not 25 anymore. I haven’t been for over a decade. I’m 38: Older, wiser and happier than I was back then. I remain a living and breathing facsimile of a smiley face and come what may? I will always be that.
Not just “once in a blue moon.”
Winky emoticon. Smiley face. G’night, all. Pleasant dreams.