I'm 41 today. Happy Birthday to me. My birthday was enough to make me post for a change. Sad I've been so absent, but this summer has been one hectic mofo with work picking up and all the other stuff that's gone on. Strange number, that 41. The "1" still makes it seem small. Small enough to forget that I'm now on my way to 50. Fifty. WTF? Okay, I have time to consider 50 later. For now, let's talk about 40, and the year that was. Last year at this time, I was definitely in crisis mode, not a severe one, not completely debilitating, but most certainly disorienting. I don't know what it was about turning 40, but it threw me. 40's a big fat number. 40 could not be denied. I got used to being 40 around December, when I was in the Caribbean with my family. Actually, I don't think I got used to it as much as I forgot about it. And that's what you do when you get older, you forget how old you are. I never felt 40, whatever 40 was supposed to feel like. And I don't feel 41 now (or won't in 12 hours, the time of day I was actually born). I'm still immature in some ways, still anger too easily about dumb things people do. I still go to bed too late, get up too late. Childish things I still find funny. I laugh just as hard as my 8 year-old nephew about most jokes involving shit, poo, pee, farts, or any combination thereof. Is that a 41 year-old trait? Who's to say?
Forty was a year of transition, an eventful year for me. I started the year off having a falling out with a good friend over a situation that at our age, just shouldn't happen. Soon thereafter, I found out that my father is in the early stages of Alzheimer's. I spent time last fall helping my mother track down bills that my father never used to let her see and locate assets and bank accounts that only he knows about. I reviewed the living wills and trusts that my mother had an attorney prepare for both of them. Last fall was fun! I took my first ever cruise and visited St. Thomas, Antigua, Tortola, and St. Lucia for the first time. I boycotted a dolphin swim, to the bemusement of my family. I flew to Nebraska and back in the same day. I spent two weeks on jury duty in Brooklyn and got to experience a different slice of the world. I lost another childhood friend too soon.
I also had to face certain physical realities. I bought my first pair of loafers the other day. Loafers are the style of shoe I've always steered clear of because I thought they were goombah, lazy ass shoes meant for old men. But I found a couple of nice pairs on Zappos and they actually look pretty good. (I still won't do penny loafers or those ugly ass tassel kind....oooh, I get the shakes just picturing them.) My feet are thanking me. The hair? As previously mentioned, it's going, going, gone and it ain't coming back. It zigged, so I zagged. You have to go with the flow in life. I'm shaving it close now, and you know what, my melon isn't nearly as deformed-looking as I thought it would be. I dare say I like it better than having lots of hair. Very low maintenance, and I've always been about convenience. My back is another story. If I don't stretch that bitch out and hit the gym at least once or twice a week, it tightens up on me and makes me susceptible to the most absurd of home injuries, like straining a muscle when I reach for my Blackberry alarm clock in the morning. I know my back is going to give me trouble from here on out, but on the whole, I actually feel pretty good.
The most significant event of the past year, however, is that I met someone special without any clue that it would happen. Seven months later, she's unlocked a door and shown me a peaceful, stable side of life that I never believed was meant for me (or never seemed to want). My life is a lot richer now, and most days, I have to admit, two is better than one. I say this not to make it sound all strawberries and cream, but what I mean is that when you care for someone and know they care for you, and when they give as much as you give, and you're there for each other and both on the same side, it's amazing how much it opens you up as a person. It's like my Grinch heart has grown to three times its prior size and the tiny birdcage it was in snapped like a dry twig. I've tapped into reservoirs of patience that I didn't know I had and it's made me a calmer, happier person (if for no other reason than to keep HER calm and happy). That's a joke! Okay, so maybe I haven't become funnier. Every night now, no matter how late I get home from work, I water the flowers and plants that she bought for my balcony. And a few nights ago, when she wasn't feeling well, I walked her dog (Jersey Adler a/k/a Jer Jer) all by myself and even picked up his five, saddle brown poo logs (a quantity I'd never seen him emit before and which I'm sure he intentionally saved for me) for the very first time. All of this is baffling because I actually don't mind doing any of it. Me, a hermit by trade, doesn't mind having a woman and her dog in his one bedroom apartment with increasing regularity and doesn't mind picking up that dog's shit (once in awhile).
Something's amiss. Or very right. Better late than never, that's what this new 41 year-old says.
