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It’s my birthday, so you’re just going to have to pardon the narcissistic self-indulgence of me waxing nostalgic. Deal with it. By the way, this post has a soundtrack; just hit play above and read on…

I don’t think there’s much special about turning 33. A bit of morbid curiosity lead me to the Wikipedia article titled “List of people who died in their thirties.” Some interesting folks have bitten it at 33. All things considered, I still hope to get quite a bit more done before I have to call it a life. But the other thing I noticed is that some interesting folks had also accomplished quite a bit by the time they were 33. Alexander the Great…Franz Schubert…Bruce Lee…Eazy E…Bill Hicks…Lester Bangs.

You know those times (that I think we all share) where one becomes painfully self-conscious about personal potential, wondering whether or not we’re making the grade, cosmically speaking? I find those moments popping up with more regularity the older I get. Yet the interesting thing is that lately, I been getting pretty good at keeping those feelings in check and using them as deep breaths of motivational energy.

In all honesty, getting older doesn’t really bother me. I feel good about the experiences I’ve had, blessed by the love of family and friends and maybe just a little wiser for the years that have passed. Sure, sometimes I wonder if I could have gotten where I am today (experientially speaking) a little faster. 

Maybe.

But that’s when I remind myself that it’s all about the journey, not necessarily the destination.