I look at birthdays as recurring annual rematches lasting exactly one year.
Each year on my birthday, I examine how I have failed or done things in a mediocre way, and I attempt redemption by making up my mind to go back into the ring and do it better or differently the following year. I also look at the things I have done well (and they are few), and make a note to myself to continue down that path.
For the past ten years, I have been increasingly wary of a hardened cynicism and bitterness that accompanies aging. It’s one thing to be skeptical and to question the status quo, another altogether to dismiss each experience in life with “what’s the point?” or worse, to dismiss others’ experiences with a “been there, done that.” (Probably the phrase I have the greatest disdain for, even more than “what goes around comes around.”)
Bitterness is probably the greatest enemy of aging, even more so than greying hairs and wrinkles. You can have all the Botox in the world, but if you’re rotted from the inside, it will eventually show through the soul.
We’re like wine. One bad year can mean a stale bottle and ten wasted years in the cellar.
Fortunately, we can always replant and hope for a better harvest next year.
