There were a few birthdays back in the day that had meaning, milestones with parties, but now even the big round numbers seem redundant. This one just past was significant, for the excuse to get tattooed on the day, but that story is for another time.
The big moments in life never land neatly on those days. Some so gently you only realise afterwards when the seed has grown tall, and others like meteors that tear down what was standing.
I’m working on a drawing about the work switch from being an office-bound graphic designer to a high-vis-wearing brewer. A big choice made consciously, despite knowing the big changes it would wreak.
Looking back, it’s surprising how few real branches in the path there are in life. Some that seem momentous, like moving cities or having children, don’t actually change the track you’re already following.
The first I chose as a child, without knowing the weight of the decision. A teacher’s recommendation had won me a part scholarship to a prestigious private boys-only high school, to continue on the path of math prodigy. I’d hit puberty early, with a moustache and yearnings at age 12, and wanted to be around girls.
I’ve never regretted it, but I do sometimes wonder where that boy on the other path journeyed. Where they all did.