Last year I celebrated the apex of birthdays in the life of any philosophical nerd: 42. I can’t hope to top that this year, but that’s okay. Each year is something of its own (see some of my previous birthday posts here and here.)
Birthdays and Deathdays
This year I’ve been thinking a little bit about my post from four years ago when I discovered that I had, statistically speaking, entered middle age. I’ve also been thinking a lot about death in my philosophy and horror class (an occupational hazard, I suppose). I’ve always been a bit prone to melancholy and thoughts of death (not quite enough to be goth, but I see what the goths are on about).
Given that my life is more likely than not more than halfway over at this point, should my birthday be a day of celebration of my existence thus far or a mourning in anticipation of an impending deathday?