Yesterday a friend of mine e-mailed me to ask how old I was going to be this year (today’s my birthday). I looked over at Dustin and said, “Am I going to be 31 or 32?”
It was at that moment that I realized for the first time in my life, I didn’t know how old I was. I had to calculate it. Not kidding.
Now I know that 32 years old ain’t nothin’ to worry about and in fact, I feel like my thirties will be my most defining years. I’m actually looking forward to them. But for crap’s sake, how could I possibly forget how old I was?
It’s been a rough couple of years, I suppose. I’ve been through quite a bit and have stayed incredibly busy throughout it all. But forgetting my age? That’s just weird.
Anyway, I guess it’s the first of many moments like that. Oh well. Bring it.
Don’t feel bad. I did the same exact thing a few weeks ago when i was talking to Jenny’s parents. I had to calculate it as well. Turns out I had told them the wrong age.
Happy Birthday “Old Man”!!
I’ve been doing that, too, as of late. I think it’s hitting home once we’ve passed the 30 mark. Now there’s nothing really to hold onto except the 5-year increments. Life sucks. In America.