I’m not usually one to pay much attention to birthdays.  But this one seems special for at least this reason: I’m exactly 30 years older than I — and probably most of the people who knew me — expected I’d ever be.

This has caused me to spend a good deal of today thinking about my life: where I’ve been (to the extent my Swineheimer’s permits remembering), where I am, and where I might go from here.  When I think about the great achievements of my life, from my first “published” poem in the eighth grade to the publication of a book by a Microsoft employee for which I wrote one chapter in 2000; from the time my brother and I won an award in a city-wide talent show for singing “Candy Man” to my cover of “Brandi” (originally by Looking Glass, more recently the Red Hot Chili Peppers) done just a couple hours ago; from fingerpainting “pictures” in kindergarten to seeing my first publication of pictures in the Fresno Bee (Friday, July 31, 2009, an insert called “Talk” in the South Valley Edition); from being possibly the only person in America to have to repeat pre-school (it really wasn’t my fault) to graduating third out of 56 in my law school class — which, incidentally, kicked off the official recognition of my move from Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) to Career Deficit Disorder (CDD) in 2006 — I’m underwhelmed.

I really thought I’d have done something with my life by now.

Where I am right now is not a place I’m exactly tickled pink to be.  I’m a lawyer.  A criminal defense lawyer.  And I’m not sure exactly why I ever chose to do that, except that maybe it’s because everyone in my family always hated lawyers.  That seems kind of like a silly reason to become a lawyer.  And, since I’m going to be honest about things here, I don’t particularly like being a lawyer.  Fortunately for me, everyone in my family also hates psychotherapists, so I’ve got at least one more career ahead of me.

My family claims not to dislike writers.  This is a real bummer.  Because the one thing I’ve been told that I’m really good at is writing.  Maybe as I embark on the second half-century of my life, I’ll take a crack at writing something a little more significant than a blog, or two, or three, or — yes, I believe I have — four (not counting the photoblog).  As some of my closer friends know, I have at least that many story ideas in my head; none of which could possibly be less than a novel.  I do have an imagination!

I don’t actually know how to write a novel, mind you.  But, as noted, I’ve done a few blogs.  And I once read about a guy who had written so many blog articles he was able to put them together into a book.  Now there’s a novel idea for you!  I’ve also done some short stories, although none have yet been published.

Since I never had any kids — Challah Bobalah, Avi Bobalah, Tuvia Matai Bobalah, Rivka the Rapscallion and Lilith the Demon Kitty don’t count; they’re “just” dogs and cats — maybe I should figure out how to birth a novel or two.

Well, who knows?  Maybe I’ve still got a few years left in me.

So…happy birthday to me.  Happy 51st birthday to me.