When I was younger, I could not imagine myself the age I am now. Not even if I could have morph-aged myself, a technology which was not available when I was younger.
Tuesday was my birthday, Bastille Day in France. I’ve never been to France on my birthday, but I have always enjoyed thinking of a vast celebration occurring on “my behalf.” In reality, if I went to France on my birthday while others were celebrating, they would probably shrug and continue celebrating Their Day (not My Day). It would be like being born on Christmas or New Year’s. No one would celebrate you because they are celebrating the other holiday. On second thought, remind me not to go to France on my birthday.
Birthdays Are Confusing
A well-wisher welcomed me into my sixth decade, and I thought, that sounds horrible. Until I did the math, starting with the 1st decade (years 0-9) and realized that the sixth decade would be the years 50-59, meaning I’m ENDING my sixth decade and next year will go into my seventh decade. Then, I had to put down my birthday cookie. But only for a minute.
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