39

This year, with everything that is happening at work and with the puppy, I have not spent as much time thinking about aging and being underachieving in my life.

I mean, with the things that are going on in my job & my carreer, I have come to term with not being on any “40 under 40” lists. I’m contented where I am at. I know that content is the enemy of great. But the pursue of greatness, at least right now, is the enemy of my mental health. So I think I’ll take a bit of a pass, re-assess, and maybe get on a “great just barely before he dies” list.

As a queer man over 30, I have also came to term with being invisible, being forgotten, and being discounted by the men in my community. I have come to term with aging, with insecurity, and with rejection. I’m confortable with the skin I’m in. Comfortable is nice. As I’m barreling towards my 40s, I think I’ve learned to be a bit kinder to myself, to my aching knees and thinning hair, to my failing hearing and fuzzy memories, and to my insecurities that no one will look at me the same way.

As a Buddhist, we are taught about aging, about death,  and about impermanent very early. Yet, the hardest part is the yearning. The hardest part is the hoping for more.

And so I guess my 39th birthday wish for myself is patience, to be with all the stillness and chaos, to continue moving forward with grace and with joy, with the people I love most, but mostly, to be ok with myself. Let the last year of my 30s be one that I will come to term with aging with grace and living with joy.