I spent a lot of time last year telling myself a lie. “Brian,” I said like a father to a son. “Don’t worry about turning 40. It’s no big deal. Wait until the hair grows out of your ears like tentacles. Then freak out. But this? This will be easy!” Then I turned 40 and spent most of the year staring at myself in the mirror, looking for ear hair tentacles. It wasn’t vanity. It was the realization that it was all slipping away. That of all the things I can control, time is not one of them. I can save up money. I can give up regular beer for carrot beer. I can combine yoga and tai chi with self-inflicted acupuncture, all while dangling upside down from the ceiling. But while it will make me healthier (or kill me!) it won’t slow things down. Forty made me freak out. Isn’t that what those milestone, decade-ending ages do? They usher us into a new, uncharted realm. They dispatch something we were very comfortable with — our 30s, our 40s, our 50s, our 60s. They leave us pondering what it all means, and really, where it all went. But a wonderful thing happened this week: 41 showed up. Oh, wonderful 41. Where have you been all my life? It’s a fresh start. Where 40 was the end of something, 41 is just the beginning. A renewal. A chance to be young again. The baby of the 40-year-olds. Like a new recruit. … Continue reading Goodbye, 40. I hardly liked you