Beating the Odds

Today (the 23rd) is my birthday and I'm 57 years old. For most of the past year I mistakenly believed that I already was 57, so this is really like getting a free one. Self-delusion works that way. I still believe I'm 23 on the inside. Why not?

I'm probably the luckiest guy on earth, in a very real, Vegas sort of way. 25 years ago I was in a bad car wreck, my band broke up, I couldn't drive, had no money, no job, no real friends (my fault). If someone wanted to lay odds on my prospects at the time, I would not have been a good bet.

So I mean lucky in a real way. I did get back into school and finally moved away--I did those things on my own initiative. But I was really lucky to meet Cheryl and I'm lucky she's stayed with me. I was really lucky to find the work I'm doing, and for the past 10 years I've been able to do it from home. I'm lucky now to have family, friends, a house, a yard, my health, our dogs.

What were the odds, the prospects for my happiness, 25 years ago? Not a good bet.