On Turning 40 During a Pandemic
I'm the kind of person who mulls over milestones. Some people party (although not so much right now hopefully), other people think and read. Twice on my birthday I recited Milton's " When I consider how my light is spent " for no one in particular. My kids were puzzled but tolerant. Maybe it's just as well that I couldn't have a big birthday bash . . . I wasn't in the mood to party. I was more in the mood to brood over my increasing age. I ran across this work of Schopenhauer where I read: "the first forty years of life furnish the text, while the remaining thirty supply the commentary; and that without the commentary we are unable to understand aright the true sense and coherence of the text, together with the moral it contains and all the subtle application of which it admits." Wait, I thought, what did you say, Schopenhauer, you old misanthrope? With this birthday, I'm finished living the story of my life and next...
