On to the Second (Third?) Act
I still can't believe it. 40. Four decades old since Thursday last. It's been over 14,600 days since I entered this grimy and beautiful world. Who was once a smart alecky brat of a youngster is now...well. Anyway, I feel odd and yet not so much. Forty was an age I couldn't fathom for most of my younger days. It seemed so, grown up, old, even. Like by that unimaginable time I was supposed to be a bank president, homeowner, father. I'm none of those now, though I haven't done too badly. Getting married in a few weeks. Got a doctorate. I feel I am far more mature than even 2 years ago. In my late 20s, I went through such a down period I almost wondered if I would live to 40.
I kept telling myself over the past months that I would start clean at 40. Put away the adolescent tendencies for good. Marriage will help. Should the Lord bless us with children, that will also help. Both will very likely assist with my self-centeredness. Lord, please.
Forty is better than 30. Much. When I reached that marker, my life was a shambles. I celebrated that birthday at an ultra sleazy local saloon, amongst people who were not exactly edifying. I'd given up on love, and had my faith on a shelf. A year and a half or so later, I began the trek back to the Father. The rest of the decade was filled with victory, not always easy, mind you. But worth it all. 40 is good. A new chapter. I don't know how many more pages, paragraphs, or even sentences or words are left in my story. I don't know how much more running time there is in this movie. But the plot has finally gelled; the tale is building towards a peak. Exposition-done! Time to be something that at least ressembles an adult. But the inner adolescent needs to breathe, too, so I don't become a crumudgeon. Onward...
I kept telling myself over the past months that I would start clean at 40. Put away the adolescent tendencies for good. Marriage will help. Should the Lord bless us with children, that will also help. Both will very likely assist with my self-centeredness. Lord, please.
Forty is better than 30. Much. When I reached that marker, my life was a shambles. I celebrated that birthday at an ultra sleazy local saloon, amongst people who were not exactly edifying. I'd given up on love, and had my faith on a shelf. A year and a half or so later, I began the trek back to the Father. The rest of the decade was filled with victory, not always easy, mind you. But worth it all. 40 is good. A new chapter. I don't know how many more pages, paragraphs, or even sentences or words are left in my story. I don't know how much more running time there is in this movie. But the plot has finally gelled; the tale is building towards a peak. Exposition-done! Time to be something that at least ressembles an adult. But the inner adolescent needs to breathe, too, so I don't become a crumudgeon. Onward...
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