My thirtieth birthday starts in a little over an hour and a half. I'm okay with that, and more than okay - my twenties were a good decade, but I think this one's going to be even better.
Stacy and I had a great talk about this over dinner last night; she asked me what turning thirty meant to me, and I wasn't quite sure at first how to answer that. I've said lately that mostly it just feels like an accomplishment, which is about half-serious. But the answer I came up with after turning it over for a couple of minutes was that it feels like permission to have a second childhood. I think that you spend about twenty years trying to become sufficiently grown up and assert your dignity, until you get to an age where you discover it's not important to be dignified after all. It's a little like going to the Zen monastery in order to learn that you had what you really needed the whole time.
So - happy birthday to me, very shortly. We had plans to go to Philly today, and changed our minds when the snow got serious this morning - we'll probably go next weekend instead. It worked out nicely, as I got to stay home and read comics while the world outside was spread out in wintery beauty. A fine way to say goodbye to my first youth, and welcome gladly in my second.
Cheers. And, in true hobbit fashion, I wish all of you many happy returns.