I turned 37 years old on Friday, February 19.  The number is awkwardly close to 40.  That cannot be, can it?  Let’s review the facts: I am only 3+ years into my career; I live in the same shoebox-sized apartment I did during law school; I have do not have a wife; I do not really have any strong prospects for a wife; I have no kids.  This isn’t how life is supposed to proceed.

So the fuck what?  I am happy.  I am not content.  I am not satisfied.  I want it all.  I want to be the best-damned attorney in Philadelphia, in the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.  Hell, I want to be the best.

I have not met the future Mrs. Sullivan yet.  Mom says that I have a broken picker.  Perhaps, I am a late bloomer.  Maybe I will meet her tomorrow.  Unfortunately, I may never meet her.  That will be okay, too.

My path in this life is different than how I would have mapped it out.  I envy my friends and sister, who are married and have 2.5 kids with a dog as well as a mortgage in the suburbs.  My road bends in a contrary direction.

I used to think, “What the hell is wrong with me?  Why can’t I have all of that?”  I do not think that way anymore. There is nothing wrong with me.  I am different.  I have embraced it.

I am 37 years old and, maybe, halfway through this awesome life.  Bring on the next 37!