some of you will get that post title, and some won’t. that’s fine.
however, today, i am 46. or, according to this site, i’m 8.25 in dog years.
it’s all fine and good and all that. but it’s funny what years strike you and which ones don’t.
30 was awesome for me. i was a junior high pastor, and didn’t feel like i had credibility with parents. somehow, turning 30 felt like it would help.
35 didn’t mean anything to me.
for some reason, 37 was a tough one. i remember thinking that there was no stretch of the imagination that i was, in any way, still a “young adult” (which was surely true long before 37; but it was only then that i realized it).
40 was fine with me.
45 was even fine with me, last year.
but 46 is weird. and it’s stupid — all subjective psychological perspective stuff. but it was only a few weeks ago that it struck me for the first time: i’m four years away from 50. which means i’m barely holding on to middle age even. i’m truly almost old.
none of this is all that big of a deal to me, really. but i do find it funny that i was totally fine with turning 45, and not quite so jazzed about turning 46.
that said, my love language is gifts all the way, so birthdays are always good.