Captain's Log – On Birthdays

A lot of my friends don't like birthdays.

They don't like saying how old they are, and they'd just as soon let the day slip by without anyone making a fuss over another year passing.

I suppose I understand that.

But I've also reached the point where I see birthdays a little differently.

We have too many friends our age who didn't get another one — who didn't make it this far.

One of my dearest friends and I used to tease each other relentlessly about our ages. Whenever she'd get a little saucy with me, I'd remind her that she would always turn the next decade before I did. "Yeah," I'd say, "but at least you'll be 40 before me." But she died at 39.

Now I'm looking at 57.

Those numbers stopped feeling like something to avoid and started feeling like something to appreciate. Every birthday is a gift. The alternative isn't much of a plan.

The last couple of weeks have reminded me of that more than ever. We've lost some really good people. People who should still be here telling stories, making us laugh, and giving us grief. Their absence has a way of making another birthday feel especially sweet.

This summer we've spent a lot of time with family, and I've caught myself looking at my parents in a way I never have before.

I remember them when they were younger than I am now. When they seemed to know everything and could solve every problem. As a kid, you assume your parents have life all figured out.

Then one day you realize they were just kids themselves, doing the best they could.

And now somehow I've become the age they were when I looked up to them, while they were looking up to their own parents.