43 and that's okay!

It's that time of year again: my birthday.

I don't get hung up on birthdays like a lot of people. I generally look on them as a positive thing, a personal holiday. I'm getting older, that's true. Well, so what? As the Buddha said, getting older can't be avoided.

I was born in 1966, so that makes me 43 years old today. That's a good age to be, of course. Still young, but with the edge of experience.

I was born on May 20th, but I should have been born in June: I was 2 months premature. I spend several weeks in an incubator with a glow-in-the-dark plastic rosary hanging over my head. The rosary was a gift from a nurse, and I found it in one of my boxes last summer. My grandfather did not call the Texas relatives for a week, he was sure I would die. Not only did I not die, I thrived: I avoided all of the problems a lot of premature babies have, save being very short for many years.

I probably shouldn't be here. Living, that is. It was pretty touch and go, apparently. So I'm always grateful for my time here on Earth: every day, every moment is a gift. Maybe that sounds kinda hokey, a little too greeting card-ish , but that's okay, because it's true.