This was not the post I had hoped to write. The best of birthday rants I had been working on just didn’t read right, so you’ll have a brand-spanking-new rant for the occasion.

For the record, I hate birthdays. Actually, I suppose that’s not technically accurate. I enjoy other people’s birthdays, but am more ambivalent own. Congratulations, you’ve managed to keep yourself from becoming a former human being for another 365 days. Well done. It seems a little disingenuous.

While others celebrate the turning of another year with reckless abandon, I have almost always looked upon mine as a moment of pause. Time to take account and reflect on the works left undone, those not yet undertaken, and those that will never be. By the time Alexander had reached my age, he had unified an empire. Others stood on the cusp of their glory… Jefferson and Hamilton were about to make their mark on the Republic. When he was two years junior to my age now, Theodore Roosevelt published a seminal work on the naval campaigns of the War of 1812 and served in the New York House of Delegates.

My war rages on; one side bent on perfection, place, and prominence and the other to accept what is as good enough. I’ve lived my life in pursuit of what’s next while never being satisfied with the achievement. I’ve repeatedly sacrificed the personal on the alter of the professional. I cannot fault the results, but the price has been terrible in its own right.

I’ll not resolve these battles tonight, or perhaps ever. But each year, with the coming of June, I will be reminded, and I will ponder them afresh.