I have a birthday coming up, and a big one it is — not quite the milestone of 60 or 65, but a significant number just the same.
My first thought is that I ought to use this as a time of reflection, but then I remember that I’ve seen my reflection and it isn’t all that interesting.
I feel strongly, however, this should be a grown-up kind of birthday. By that I mean I have outgrown the “I want, I want, I want” birthdays of childhoods, when October meant a chocolate cake, a new toy gun for the arsenal and a $10 bill from Grandma. Now, because I have reached a certain age — I’ll be 59, if you must know — I no longer have a list of what I want, mostly because I don’t want anything. I don’t eat cake, I still have a few of my toy guns, and I can get my own $10 bill.