Today is my birthday. Thank you, I’m 71. You would think I could tell you how that feels, but I can’t. It feels the same as ever. You need less sleep, they say, and that seems true. Otherwise, my age just doesn’t have much to say. The date you’re born matters if the kid soccer team says you have to be eight by January first, or for that first bartender job, or to run for Congress or collect Social Security. Most birthdays, though, don’t measure anything you need to know.
