My 40th birthday has
come and gone. Even though I am now forty, I will always feel as young as I was
when I met my wife at 23. So, I do not feel forty like Steve Carrell in The
40-Year-Old Virgin. But as time passes by and everyone grows older around
me, I cannot help thinking about mortality. In the last year and half, I have
felt the impact graduate school has had on my health; it is nothing like my
undergrad. Furthermore, working as a case worker in a Level I Trauma Center I have
encountered patients dealing with death on every workday. Death and grief will
always be a tiring process, and it will continue to be life’s great mystery
that may transpire from heart disease, cerebrovascular disease, suicide, or a
car accident. Subsequently, in my forty years, I learned to keep pace simple or
try my best to do so because life is like a race with an unknown finish. During
the race, I must tell myself it is okay to walk, run, or take a break to catch my
breath. I leave you with this short poem I wrote on my birthday.
Forty years of washed-out colors and graveyards
Sharp smells of freshly cut green grass
Joys of walking on water at dawn
Shredding tears with every sunset and twilight
Enjoying my time before I wake up.
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