Who Where How

I’ve got a birthday coming up this weekend: I’ll be 37-years-old.

Part of me believes I should mark the occasion with chin-stroking, navel-gazing, and other ponder-related pastimes; that the day should serve as a neon sign and full-stop on my calendar.

Another part of me argues that this is just an arbitrary date tucked in amongst all other arbitrary dates. I needn’t take much notice—beyond maybe eating some kind of cake?—and breezing on past (as I typically do with birthdays) is more idea...