Today marks 33 years of living. Welcome to my Jesus Year!
Are you familiar with The Jesus Year concept?
Let me take you on this fun ride....
So, supposedly, 33 is the age at which Jesus came into popularity, and thereby, we are all supposed to use this number as something to measure our own life achievements. A benchmark. A barometer. This sounded like a good concept I was 8 and 33 seemed like a whisper away from a nursing home, but now, today, it's different. It's irritating. It's sort of sad when you start feeling all good and stuff about yourself for remembering to pay your electric bill on time, only to realize that when he was your age, Jesus was raising the dead. Jesus was walking on water. Jesus was making miracles. Jesus had better hair than you.
Jesus, talk about butthurt.
Then again, when Jesus was my age, he died.
So there is that.
Then again, back then, everyone died by forty-something. I mean Cher didn't even begin to get interesting until she was like 47. So yeah, I think I'll let myself percolate a little more before breaking out the ye'olde Jesus yard stick.
Look, I don't want to take a single day for granted, but I also don't want to waste a minute worrying about living up to some external standard. Simply put: I have too much living to do. No reason to get hung up on anything. At least not until I turn 42 and hit The Elvis Year. Then we'll have something to talk about.
All-in-all, 33 is looking pretty good right now. Happy birthday to me!
|When do you know you are too old to curse? |
When your friends put it on your birthday cake. Point taken, fuckers.