On November 19th, believe it or not, I’m going to Turn 40. 40! Man, that’s crazy. 40. Just the sound of it makes my kidneys hurt. 40. I guess I’ll finally have an age appropriate for my hair color. Only 19 days until I’m 40. The countdown has begun.

I use to think that turning 40 was a lot like dying. It seemed to me that when somebody would turn 40 that they have surrendered their dreams and were all pretty much just working for the man. You know what I mean; being 40 was a lot like having nothing to look forward too, at least that’s what I use to think.

As I sit here starring down the barrel of this landmark event I realize how mistaken I really was. I have so much going on over the next few months that it would be impossible for me to even suggest that I had nothing to look forward too. I have opportunities coming out of the woodwork every day. New avenues are opening up for my career, my music, my comedy productions, so much so that I hardly have the time to keep up with it all. There is truly nothing about my life that is settling down.

So, in 19 days I’ll turn 40. There won’t be any big parties or crazy gag gifts. I’m not going to run out and join a gym, although I probably should. The news paper won’t print the headline “Oh My God, He Made it to 40!” The reality of this situation is that I will most likely go to dinner with my wife and maybe catch a movie. My daughters will call and tell me about their latest boyfriend at school while my mother denies the whole event as a bureaucratic mistake regarding my birth date. She’s been 29 forever. Some of my friends will call and chuckle as they remark about why they thought I would never have made it, sighting specific examples from my past that I would rather not remember. At the end of the day I’ll chew up a handful of Rolaids, stair at my head full of grey hair, hang my wedding band on my Harley Davidson watch stand, and climb into bed.

Being 40 isn’t really so bad, it just stings a little when you say it.