Yesterday I turned 22-years-old.  I had a really great day, a really really needed great day.

Special thanks to my parents for leaving me possibly the best voicemail ever from a hot tub (they sang to me).

Special thanks to everyone who called or saw me in person.

Special thanks in advance to my sister who is saving a cake mix for my next visit.

Special thanks to Stephen for being my driver and event planner, and thanks to everyone who came out, ’twas a good time.

In general thanks everyone who helped make my 22nd as smooth and relaxed and fun as it could be.

Perhaps more pressingly… thanks to everyone who has played a part, big or small, in making me who I am today.

This includes but is not limited to : my Mom, my Dad, Heath, Eric, Amanda, all Heath’s friends that used to hang out in the basement, Rob, Stephen, Shayne, Faidley, Tracy, Samantha, Cayla, Christian, Angel, Shea, Todd, Baeckl, Beast, Krash, Mikey, Samuel, Emily, Eric L., Eric M., Eric S., Sarah, Jon, Chris O., Bryan, J. Sedlock, Kelly M.,  the Matts, (and many more)…

and a very special hat tip to Tyler, Marley, Jack, Ho-Jo, Tonto, Kaden, Scruffy, Casey, Kelly, Sabrina, Vodka, Baxter, DP, Fred, Ginger, Bronson, Lucy, Russell, Reedy, Daisy, Harley, Tex, Sunny, Jackson, Lucky, Aspen, Sandy, Brandi, Max, Bunker, Edie, and Sam (yes, those are all the unforgettable dogs from my life, some things never change).

Twenty-two and still doing better all the time.

“So what were the best parts of being 21?  Nothing we did allowed.  And none of that obvious getting to go to bars shit…”

Hard to say.  There’s a lot of really great things, and a lot of terrible ones.  It’s been a roller coaster of a year.  Probably had higher highs and lower lows than anyone before it.

I’ll leave 21 behind with this.  There most likely is no point to life whatsoever.  And I think that fucks us all up.  We’re all looking for a point; trying to define why we’re here at all.  There really doesn’t seem to be a reason.   So perhaps the better question isn’t what we’re all doing, but that makes any of it important?   That’s an answer I suspect is different to different folks.  Here’s my answer.  Speaking as someone who doesn’t remember diddly squat… memories matter.  Little photographs imprinted on my brain.   The fact that I can still remember verbatim a conversation I had FIVE years ago in the middle of the night in Chickentown–it involved cows (god do I ever love that I grew up in Somerset), anyone who knows my memory skills know that this is impressive.  An image burned in my brain, a road with cement guard rails on both sides, water to the left, a sharp curve ahead, and a contented silence.  I just had this extremely strange realization that a large portion of my best and most vivid memories are all set in motor vehicles…  I don’t know what that says about me, but I like it.

You know, I’m glad I’m me.  And I’m even more glad that I’m getting to that point in my life where it’s harder to make me feel bad about being me.   Somewhere along the line, I became more sure of myself, more stable, shed a few insecurities.

Life, good or bad, better or worse, only really has one rule…. it goes on.