So I am 44. Shit. 44. That's a serious number.
I remember my late father's 40th birthday like it was yesterday—I looked at him as if he were the oldest person alive and could not even imagine myself being 40 at any point in my life. I was just a kid then, seeing him as this larger-than-life figure, someone who had it all figured out. But here I am now, at 44, realizing that none of us really have it all figured out. And he's gone. It’s strange how life turns out, how quickly time flies by. I guess I will write about that someday, but not today. Today is about something else.
Last year, I wished for myself to be free from the demon. To no longer be chained and dependent, to be open-eyed, calm, and independent. It’s a simple wish, yet it feels monumental when you’re in the midst of it. Well, I can't say I am free. I am as far from it as I am close to it. It’s like walking a tightrope, knowing that one wrong move could send you spiraling down. But I’ve been working at it for a few years now, and I don’t plan on stopping until I win this terrible battle. It’s a battle against something that feels ingrained in me, something that has been a part of my life for so long that it almost feels like a friend, albeit a toxic one.
As I get older, I find myself thinking more about how much influence my father had on me, how many things I took from him without even realizing it. It’s in the little things—the way I laugh, the way I approach problems, even the way I carry myself. And now, I wonder how my kids will take after me. Yes, they are still young, and there’s a lot more they will learn from me. The thought that my drinking habits could make them act the same makes me sick to my stomach and feel like the world’s biggest loser—not worthy of fathering my beautiful, amazing kids. It’s a heavy burden to carry, the idea that my flaws could become theirs. But it’s also a powerful motivator to change, to be better for them.
I am happy to report that I cruised through the celebrations without a drop of alcohol. To be honest, there weren’t real “celebrations” like I used to have a few years back. Back then, birthdays were an excuse to lose myself in a haze, to drown out the noise of life with drinks and laughter that often felt hollow. But still—no alcohol was consumed this time, and that counts and adds up. One second at a time, one day at a time—one year at a time. That’s how I’ve been approaching it. Every sober day is a victory, a step towards the life I want to live.
To conclude my celebrations, I had an afternoon 4-hour (!!!) nap, something I never would have allowed myself in the past. It felt indulgent, like a gift to myself. After that, I took a long, hot shower and decided to do something I hadn’t done in a long time—I went to see the new Deadpool movie alone. It was a great movie, full of the irreverent humor that I love, but I found out that I am too old to sit and watch a 2-hour Marvel movie without feeling restless. So, after the movie, I treated myself to a nice dinner. I went to a nice Argentinian restaurant, ordered a juicy, perfectly cooked piece of steak, and called it a night.
The waitress was kind and served me a chilled bottle of limoncello at the end of the meal—which, I admit, was not appealing to me in any way. It’s funny how your tastes change as you get older, how something that once seemed so tempting can lose its allure. I looked at that bottle and realized that I didn’t need it, didn’t want it. That, in itself, felt like a small victory.
So, happy birthday to me. It wasn’t the wild celebration of years past, but it was a meaningful one. A step forward in the journey that I’m on—a journey towards being the man I want to be, for myself and for my kids. Here’s to another year of growth, of challenges, and of victories, no matter how small they might seem.
ODAAT my friends.
Comments