At 31,

I am more alive, yet closer to death.

I am restless on a myriad of levels as opposed to only a few, as in my youth.

I am as hungry for knowledge as ever before. It is the ravenous appetite that is never quelched.

I am curious if I will amount to anything worthwhile, anything I consider worthwhile.

I heave at the weight of potential, of possibility.

I am more tacit, more linear in my understanding than the abstractness of my 20’s thinking.

I still see the infinite possibility of humanity, yet am more attuned to our collective pitfalls, our inevitable failure, our hedged bets.

I draw further away from passion and more towards logic, having seen the beauty of moderation, of balance.

I fail less than I succeed and can consider my presence a positive.

I am being pulled by my wanderlust and believe I will eventually succumb to it.

I love my wife.
I love my life.