I know it’s just a number, but I must admit, it’s the first birthday I’ve had that has made me feel old. I’m just getting comfortable with this whole 30-something concept, and, suddenly, most of my 30-somethings are behind me.

Now I feel like I’m careening down a hill, at the bottom of which I will soon smash head first into 40.

I don’t feel almost-40.

By almost-40, I figured I’d be rich and famous—or, barring that, at least not have to bite my fingernails to the quick when it comes time to pay the monthly bills and live in fear that my employer might suddenly drop a pink slip on my ass. My guess is, however, that I’ll always be striving for a higher degree of financial stability and professional accomplishment, regardless of how relatively successful I am in either area.

So, those perceived shortcomings notwithstanding, I’m pretty happy with where I’m at. I have a great job, a nice home, a wonderful wife and two beautiful, healthy children. Throw in the added bonuses of continued good health, a waistline that remains the same as it was in my 20s and a full head of mostly not-grey hair, and, well, I’d have to be a real schmuck to complain.

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