One of those not-yet monumental birthdays is approaching within the next two weeks. It’ll be my last birthday before the big 3-0. Folks tend to focus on that one as the big one, the one to tease you for that it’s all downhill from here, that wrinkles and gray hairs are going to jump out of your mirror the minute you peek on your 30th birthday. So, I’m thinking this year is the perfect year to celebrate the youth that I’ll get to enjoy for a full 365 days before the infirmity of a 30 year old sets in. Each day will be enjoyed and savored. I’ll relish the ice cream cones that’ll go straight to my hips post-30, but which are reasonably safe in my twenties. I’ll revel with all of the energy that a late twentier has, as compared to a thirty-aught. I’ll lustfully live the life of today, rather than pine for the retirement of tomorrow. 29 will purposefully be lived as a year of delights, a season of flavor, and a period of joyous discovery. That way, if 30’s as bad as everyone makes it out to be, at least I’ll have had _some_ fun before decrepitude.