So. I have reached the milestone of forty. They say that life begins at forty. Two days in and I am still waiting for the drum roll, the angel dust, the fireworks. No angel has descended to hand me a certificate to congratulate me on making it this far. Or to hand me the "Your Life's Instruction Manual" I've been waiting for. Has my midlife transformation transformed? No. Have I achieved enlightenment while sipping wine and sitting under the pepper tree? No. (And if age is an indicator of enlightenment, and Buddha achieved his at 35, then I am long bloody overdue. Maybe it was the wrong tree. Or the wine.)
I was considering sharing tales of my adventures through my thirties (becoming a Buddhist, returning to South Africa, marrying my lovely wife), but I am done looking back. I could share some pieces of advice I've received over the years, which have always stood me in good stead (always take a breath mint when it is offered), but people rarely follow the advice of others. I did think about sharing some wisdom (everyone is a reflection, we are all Buddhas), but frankly, I can't be arsed right now to sit and type out all that stuff about What It All Means. Besides, not every slice of wisdom is for everyone and not everything I may consider to be wise, is. After all, I do believe in flying saucers and space aliens and the existence of the chupacabra. And the yeti. And a whole host of other things.
I thought I'd go all Oprah instead and tell you what I know to be true:
LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO BE DRINKING CHEAP AND NASTY WINE.