37!

The sad truth is that I probably would have felt bad about turning 37 a few years ago. It would have sounded old to me; a nose too close to 40. I would have felt bad about the books I haven't written, the careers I haven't pursued, the wide recognition I haven't gotten.

Now, of course, 37 seems heartbreakingly young, and my birthday is, once again, a source of joy rather than melancholy. I spent both 35 and 36 in the hospital -- with last year's jaunt to the ICU being particularly horrible -- so I was so grateful to have cake at home with my family. It was a quiet night, but 40 -- 40's gonna be a party. Save the date.