I turned forty today. Here’s a picture of me, not for posterity, but for vanity.
We do not write memento mori in birthday cards, but it’s always written in the sky and in the dust. We buried my cousin when he was thirty three. Age is not a guarantee or a safeguard or anything else except a gift. Some parents complain time is a thief, but this is not true. Time is not a thief; time is a gift we do not treasure as deeply as we ought.
My four-year-old woke up shrieking this morning, yelling, “The sun has turned its light on, and I do not know why!” It has been a dark January, and we forget the sun exists. We are arrogant, we are small, and “not as strong as we think we are.
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