A “City Slickers” Birthday

Examining my adulthood against the backdrop of the Billy Crystal dramedy

“You ever reach a point in your life where you say to yourself, ‘This is the best I’m ever gonna look, the best I’m ever gonna feel, the best I’m ever gonna do’…and it ain’t that great?”

“Happy birthday.”

Last month, I turned 38-years-old.

I don’t immediately think of myself as a man in my late-thirties. I’m still struggling with the idea that I’m an actual adult.

It’s not that I feel 18 or 22, but like almost everyone else, I think of myself as some vague, younger version of me. Age has a way of sneaking up on you like that. It’s like a growth spurt or a change in your weight. You live with it every day, so it’s gradual to you, but then you walk by a mirror and a different person is looking back at you. I still can’t believe I’ve been married for seven-and-a-half years and have been in the same relationship for thirteen years. I still think of the early ’00s as just a few years ago.

As Gertrude Stein once said, “We are always the same age inside.”