Thirty-Nine

Today’s my 39th birthday. This means it’s the last year of my life before I hit the big one. Another big one.

Whenever I feel old, I like to think about famous people who are within a year of my age. For instance, Rachel Maddow. Richard Engel. Jimmy Fallon. Seth Meyers, who is just one day younger than me. And three-fifths of the cast of my favorite currently-running sitcom: Neil Patrick Harris, Jason Radnor, and Alyson Hannigan. And Jim Parsons. And Seth MacFarlane. And Kristen Wiig. And Seth Green. And… on and on. (Those two links contain mostly actors, but that’s OK.)

I suppose this could all just make me realize how little I’ve accomplished in life. But for some reason, it doesn’t. Instead it makes me feel like I’m in the prime of my life, and that I can still accomplish things if I can figure out what they are. And more importantly, that I can still be happy.

Happiness is something you have to choose. You can’t wait for it to happen. You have to say: right now, in this moment, I choose to be happy. Because there’s always something to be happy about. Happiness doesn’t come naturally to me like it does to some other people; I have to work at it. But I’ve been getting better at it, I think.

Or maybe I don’t mean happiness. Maybe I mean contentment.

Either way, it’s always achievable.

So here’s to another happy birthday.