Well, it’s coming up – about a month away and I am torn; I don’t know how to describe the sensation, but I don’t really care about “the big 4.0.” and all that jazz, but I also care enough about not caring about it that… I dunno, it’s kind of a nuisance.
For my 30th birthday, I climbed Hergest Ridge. I drove all the way from Oxford to the Welsh borders and went up the hill which I had been past at least once prettymuch every year of my life from age 10, moreso when I was working in Aberystwyth.
It’s one of those landmarks which just screams “climb me, seek me, investigate me” and I finally gave in to the temptation, to give myself some “me” time in a place I’d never been before.
It was wonderful – green, spiky, with cold, wet, wild, biting air. The sort of place I love to explore.
In the evening I got home – Bob and Josie were due to come over for a small dinner down the pub, and I knew immediately that something was wrong when they walked through the door and Josie failed to immediately press into my hands a birthday card from JD (aka: Chris).
In that instant it was clear after all that this meant Chris had not given them a card – an inconceivable notion, he’s just too nice and too organised – and therefore I would be getting one from him later… and therefore something was scheduled for later, and therefore the plans for the evening were a fabrication; it turned out to be a 10..12 person dinner in the pub, not too big, not too embarrassing, and after the hassle of the preceding year it was rather nice.
I welcomed it, it was good to see everyone; but in general, like most security geeks, I am (a) a bit paranoid and (b) uncomfy with being in the spotlight for inexplicable reasons at a party. I still don’t understand parties – other than dinner parties – because generally I’d much rather be in the kitchen doing the washing up and chatting to people.
But this is 2008, not 1998. Things are different, now. Frankly I consider July 6th to be a much more interesting date than April 22nd, and I remember most clearly the amazement of learning what real friends will do for you in need; and I remember the pain, horror, torture and (worst) incapability – the fear that I may have seen a flash-forward of what my life might be like in another 50 years time – and for that enormous insight I’ve paid with a slightly clicky knee, and a tendency towards stiff back muscles.
So that’s why I don’t want to have a 40th birthday party next month.
I’m not going to be 40 in April. I’m going to be 2 in July.
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