Life at 45: Scars, Stories, and Everything in Between
Yesterday, I turned 45.
Forty-five doesn’t sound like much when you say it out loud. It’s not one of those milestone numbers people make a big dramatic fuss about. But when I look back at what’s packed into those years, it feels less like a number and more like a well-traveled road with a few wrong turns, a couple of bar fights, and at least one questionable map.
In that time, I’ve been a lifeguard. A medic. I was a Mormon missionary once, and later an ex-Mormon, which is less of a clean break and more of a long conversation that never quite ends. I’ve worked in safety, trying to keep people from doing dumb things, and in sales, learning that people will absolutely do dumb things.
I’ve been married twice. Loved hard, learned a lot, picked myself up, and kept moving. Not always gracefully, but forward counts.
I’ve lived in nine states and moved 26 times. I know how to leave, and I know how to start over. Both come with their own kind of weight.
Somewhere along the way, I got dubbed a Knight by The Knightly Order of the Fiat Lux. Which still sounds like something out of a late-night campaign session, but I’ve got the title, so I guess that makes it real. Still waiting on the dragon, though.
I opened a gym, Geek and Gamer Fitness, because clearly I thought mixing barbells and nerd culture was a good idea. Honestly, it still is.
I’ve played hundreds of TTRPG sessions, built worlds, told stories, rolled dice that betrayed me at the worst possible moments. I’ve hit the shutter on my camera thousands of times, chasing those perfect little slices of time that don’t last nearly long enough.
I love conventions, DragonCon, ECCC, PAX, places where everyone shows up exactly as they are, turned up to eleven, and somehow that becomes normal.
I’m a son, a brother, an uncle, and a friend. Roles that don’t come with clear rules, just a lot of showing up and doing your best.
And yeah, there’s been anxiety. Depression. Some darker stretches where things got heavy and stayed that way longer than I would’ve liked. That’s part of the story too. Not the whole thing, but it’s in there.
My life hasn’t been smooth. It’s been chaotic, unpredictable, occasionally ridiculous, but never boring. I’ve lived a lot of different versions of life in these 45 years. Enough to know there isn’t just one way to do this.
It’s a little strange realizing there’s probably less road ahead than behind. Not scary, just… real. Makes you pay attention a bit more.
But however much time is left, one thing’s clear: I lived. I tried. I didn’t sit it out.
And honestly? That feels like something worth being grateful for.
