When I was eight, I’d stand in my basement peering up at the decade calendar which clung to the storage door. I’d calculate the time when I would be a real grown-up. Then, I would stop at 2008.
My parents said to me, as a young child, “You better be settled with your life at forty, because no one has picked up the broken pieces of their life at forty”. Back then, I’d go happily skipping around because after all, my fortieth year was a blank slate.
I had my car accident at forty.