Last weekend marked that most auspicious of occasions, yea verily, my birthday.
Except that I can't particularly claim to find any of my birthdays too terribly auspicious. That's the thing about time passing and becoming another year older: 28 doesn't feel different than 27; 27 didn't feel different than 26. I don't even think turning 30--when it happens in a couple of years--will be all that big a deal.
I could be wrong. We'll see.
The older I grow, the less I care about whether there are big celebrations. Except, of course, that I always love the time I get to spend with family. Particularly when I get to spend time watching one of the cutest little girls on the planet. (My niece, Abigail.)
I think I'm going to maintain that my birthday present to myself--which won't be gifted to me until later--is going to be having some kind of adventure. What kind of adventure? I don't know. But an adventure nonetheless.