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Meditations on Turning Thirty-five

I tend to do one of these posts every year around my birthday, where I take a look back at the last twelve months of life and evaluate where I was, what I accomplished, and where I've ended up. This year, it's a little different. There's still the view in the rearview mirror but it's a longer look back.

Currently, at this very moment, I am upstairs lying on our bed powering through a Netflix documentary called The Staircase.

It's my last day being thirty-four and in a few hours I'll be thirty five. Lord Almighty where has the time gone? I remember turning twenty-five and thinking it was the most awful thing that could have ever happened to me.

That year, I refused to celebrate my birthday. I didn't want cake. I didn't want gifts from anyone. I didn't even want to go out for family dinner to a local steakhouse. I had always thought (up to that point) that by twenty-five I would have been married - engaged at the very least - with a kid or two, or may…

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