An Introspective Retrospective

So, I turned 30 years old on Friday.

I haven't really put a lot of stock into birthdays in a while - not since at least my 20th. I'm not entirely sure why, but it might have to do, simply, with the fact that I'm a boring little shit. I've never been particularly good at keeping in touch with people who aren't always within about 4 feet of me (Sean can attest to this), so that means that there's not a lot of blast-from-the-past type folks to invite to parties or get-togethers or shindigs or, if I can find a jug band, hootenannies.

But, regardless of that fact, the thirtieth birthday is a legitimate milestone - frankly, it's the last milestone birthday until 40. So perhaps I should at least pretend to care about it. Here's a monologue that ought to suffice:

I consider my first thirty years a failure.
-Not because I don't feel like I've made enough friends - I have. But then I've done my best to lose them through inaction.
-Not because I don't have enough stuff - I do. But, truth be told, I probably have too much.
-Not because I don't have a good family - I do. But those back home I've ignored, and those here I've done the same. Both are bad, but the latter is obviously worse.
-Not because I don't get enough love - I feel loved in spades. Instead, I need to give more.
-Not because I haven't suffered enough head injuries - I have. One was inflicted by a baseball bat, one by a delivery truck, and one by an air duct. The one that was scariest is not what you might think.
-Not because I don't have enough hobbies - I do. But most of them are, quite frankly, stupid. By the way, I need help on a Moscow job.
-Not because I don't enjoy my work - I do. But I find that I'm frustrated by the bureaocracy, which makes me uninspired.
-Not because I haven't led a good life - I have. But I always think I can do better.

All in all, I think I should be proud of the three decades I've spent on this rotating ball of rock I call home. I wonder, though, if the next thirty years will be as good as the first thirty.

I close now, with a joke:
Three old men were sitting on a nursing home porch. One says to the other two, "What do you want people to say about you twenty years from now? I'd like people to say what a great father and husband I was."
The second man says, "I'd like them to mention my gifts to charity."
The third man thinks a moment and says, "I want people to say, 'I can't believe he's dating another supermodel.'"