First, the bad news. I’m going to be 48 years old tomorrow.
It took me forever to realize I wasn’t young anymore. Until I was forty, the thought never really crossed my mind. When I was in my early 30s, I was hanging out with people much like myself. None of us were married. We lived in apartments and threw big noisy parties on weekends. We went to hipster rock clubs in lower Manhattan that catered to snobby music fans in their late 20s and early 30s, just like us. We gathered on Sunday mornings in bars and watched pro football all day. We dated the wrong people and changed jobs a lot.
Some of that came to an end when I got married at 35. But not all of it. Continue reading