Apr. 6th, 2017

lydamorehouse: (crazy eyed Renji)
 Everyone deals with "big" birthdays differently.

For instance, this year, both Shawn and I are turning 50. Shawn has been very typically unhappy with her "transition through the demographic lifespan." She would like to have remained in her early 40s.  She decided this year that she's going to game-ify birthdays. So instead of wishing her a happy birthday last Saturday, she wanted everyone to congratulate her for achieving LEVEL 50--which I have to admit sounds pretty badass. Some of you may not know that I met my wife playing D&D.  (I know, she SEEMS so mundane!  But she's secretly pretty darn nerdy.)  In fact, in one of those 'if you wrote this into a novel, everyone would say that things like this don't happen in Real Life (tm)" moments, one of the last things that our campaign did was marry Shawn and my characters.  She was an assassin; I was a thief.  And for a while, our college's cafe (as opposed to their formal cafeteria) sported graffiti of a heart pierced by a katana with our character names in the middle.  This was a cafe that had decades of graffiti, going all the way back to its founding, so it wasn't quite as awful vandalism that you might imagine.  So, for Shawn to have achieved level 50 as an assassin seems fairly legit.

For the most part, I'm not terribly fussed about growing older. In fact, I have a tendency to pre-birthday myself shortly after my actual birthday. For instance, I already think of myself as 50, even though I be 49 until mid-November.  I have actually accidentally lied to reporters and interviewers because of this tendency, and many printed articles about me have me as a year older than I was at the time.  Ah, well. It's always a pleasant surprise when I realize I'm not nearly as old as I think I am.  (I do this on my driver's license, too. I always add at least 5 pounds to my weight.  I figure that way I can look at it and think, "Wow, I'm thinner than I think I am!")

But... 50 is a big one, so I've decided to think of it as going into my Hobbit years.  I'm going to accept the fact that I can comfortably rest my arms on the swell of my belly and just embrace the odd bits of hair that my body has started sprouting.  I'm going to aggressively garden and intentionally watch sunsets with a cup of tea (my equivalent of a pipe).  I'm going to make sure my larder is always well stocked in case a bunch of random dwarves show up, and, while I will complain when they do, I will lay out a fine spread and enjoy myself--because food should be a pleasure and we should *all* know about second breakfast and elevenies. There will be a  lot of jigsaw puzzles and other Hobbit-like pursuits, like gossiping about my neighbors and avoiding grand adventures--except, of course, when they come to you.  You wouldn't want to be rude, now would you?

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