I turned 43 this last month. The numbers don’t mean what they used to. I remember being a kid and thinking of my dad in his 30’s…thinking some day I’ll be grown up and responsible like he is. My 30’s came and went and I never really had that “grown up” moment. I’ve always felt like a kid and as I inch closer to 50…I think I always will be.
I’ve never learned to use The Force, never mastered the Crane Kick, never been the last man standing in a boxing ring, never played a down of college football…let alone NFL football. I’ve never made a stand against oil scavengers in a Post Apocalyptic world, fought off time traveling robots or fed cute little fuzzy critters after midnight.
I have felt the need for speed but never truly experienced it. I will never be a cop in Beverly Hills or be lucky enough to ride along with Officer Murtaugh. I’ve never Dirty Danced in the Purple Rain on Elm Street…what a Nightmare that would be.
In my mind I’m still playing with Stomper trucks in the back yard. I’m still wearing my C-3PO t-shirt around the house. I’m still picking on my little sister and brother. I’m still racing down gravel roads on my 10 speed bike…hands in the air and wind in my face.
I like the memories I have created and the life I’ve lived. Not everything has been perfect but I believe everything has been earned. Good and bad. Except for the lucky stuff of course… I was lucky to have noticed Kerri in that high school gym. I was lucky she said YES to go with me as a friend to my Senior prom. I was lucky she said YES in my parents backyard the night I took a wobbly knee. I am lucky she continues to understand and accept the passion I have for cycling.
I’m already planning out Year 43. So many more family memories to be made, cycling adventures to be had, friendships to be discovered and new projects to be developed.