In one week I will be older than I have ever been.
For a while now I have lived under the assumption that working with a group of people a decade younger than me (at least) was helping me maintain my youth. Now I am starting to feel as if it is defining the space between us. One of these days they are going to chop me down.
In a nutshell, I can’t hang. Even more, I don’t want too.
For all of the hipster dad and movement of youth culture that I preach and support on these pages, I can’t help but be a little apprehensive about the digits on the horizon and the sneaky presence of 40 hiding somewhere behind them. That feels like some grown-up shit.
A few years ago I started getting a little depressed when my birthday was near. It’s not the idea of aging that bothers me as much as the fact that another ring is going on my trunk and I have stood on stagnant roots.
Sure, I’ve got a couple of fruits that have prospered in the shade that I provide, and by no means do I take that lightly.
I just figure a couple of blossoms could make our forest all the greener.
I’ll apologize now for any leaves that may fall this week.