42

That’s how many candles I would have to blow out today, if I had a cake with candles. Luckily I don’t, so that saves me a lot of blowing.

But it is my birthday today. Without cake. Well, I did have a piece of apple pie this morning, sitting in the sun at a coffee shop, during a team outing with colleagues. Or should I say offsite — that’s what it’s called when you’re not at the office. Or at home, because our homes are now also offices, of course. Although, we had an offsite at the office recently, and during the lockdowns we did our offsites remotely, from home. So the word offsite makes no sense anymore.

Anyway, I’m drifting off.

So I turned 42 today. Which is weird, because I don’t feel like 42 at all. And yesterday, I didn’t feel like 41. So how do I feel? What is a certain age supposed to feel like? I don’t feel 41 or 42, but I don’t feel like 16 either (thank goodness).

I think I feel more like thirty-something. Which means my mind’s age is about 10 years behind the age of my molecules. Although, my molecules aren’t 42 years old either. Maybe some of them are, but many are much younger. Perhaps as young as a few minutes.

In other words, there is no such thing as “my age”. At least, not a single number.

But who cares about my age anyway? There are much, much more important questions. Like, what is the meaning of life, the universe and everything?