I still remember when my neighbour turned forty. I was in my mid-twenties then, and all I could think was 'Wow, Paul got old, man.' I felt bad for him. I still had my whole life in front of me, and his, well, his was winding down. I didn't tell him that. No use depressing the guy, but I felt like a fortieth birthday was probably closer to a funeral than a party, if only because you were so much closer to a funeral.
Well, a few weeks ago I turned forty-two. I'm an now officially "middle-aged." Amazingly, I'm not sad about it. Fact is, I'm happy to report that a lot of the stuff I was told about aging is a load of crap. In a good way. And so while I yet stave off death's calling, which, according to my young friends, should arrive any minute, here are a few things I'v learned along the way. My young friends, take heed. And to my fellow, err, mature adult friends, heyo!