It's strange that someone else's birthday can have such a profound effect on you. I turn 51 on Sunday, and hadn't really thought about that much. Until Ann turned 45 on Tuesday.

I always think of her as being a teenager, even though she's married and has fairly large kids. So when Paul casually said, "Oh she's 45 today", it was a shock.

Where have the years gone? Suddenly I know that I have already lived more than half of my life, unless I get to 102 which is not likely given the current world situation. I guess I spent too many of them being too busy. And what do I have to show for it now?

Vincent says he thinks I've done more than most, which is sweet of him, but I can't think of anything which has made even a little impact. Sure, there a couple of forgotten awards in a dying industry (which proves a career can be just as unrewarding as parenthood in the long run), but nobody remembers me as some kind of guru. It's just another discardable entity in the end.

Even my hobbies and interests have never transcended mediocre. I will never be a Grand Master at Scrabble®, a brilliant solo guitarist, a renowned chef, or an international dance star.

So what am I doing here? There are too many things unfinished, undone, not even thought of yet.

It's that same feeling I get whenever I see a baby. Tough on you, kid. Everyone has so many expectations from you, and you'll probably just disappoint. Like everyone else.