47

Today's my 47th birthday. Isaac Newton was born on Jan. 4, and so was Louis Braille. It's a good birthday for music -- R.E.M.'s Michael Stipe, and Deana "Strawberry Wine" Carter, and the great soul singer Arthur Conley, who was born in McIntosh County, Ga., one county north of where I grew up.



A couple of years ago I wrote about turning 45 -- to me, that was the year I figured I was at least halfway done with this long and winding road. I've promised myself again to lose weight and get in shape -- I have a lot more I want to say about that later on, once I've had a little streak of success. Like everyone else, I see lots of flaws in myself that I'd like to correct on this trip around the sun.

But really, what I'd like to do this year is fail more.

The other day I was listening to an NPR show on video games. They were talking about the lessons that games teach us, and one of those lessons is how to fail. In any new game you might die 100 times before you reach the next level, but every time you learn a little more about the game, and you adapt, and finally you break through. Failure is a natural byproduct of trying something hard.

This year I plan to try harder things, and fail at them, until I don't.

So, right in the middle of writing all this, my friend Joe called with birthday wishes, and we started talking about what years are the BEST birthdays.

Ages 1-3: Meh. You don't really know what's going on.

4-5: It's mostly about cake.

6-10: The prime birthday years. As Joe said, when you're a little kid your birthday is better than Christmas because it's ALL ABOUT YOU -- all the presents are for you, and maybe your friends come over, and you get the biggest slice of cake. We decided that 9 is the prime birthday age -- old enough to enjoy everything, young enough to not be cynical about it.

11-15: Not that big a deal. You probably just want to stay in your room.

16: BIG deal. Drivin' time.

18: You can't drink at 18 anymore (at least in most states). But you can vote, and you're probably getting out of high school and starting the next part of your life. Big year.

21: You can drink legally now. At which point, for most of us, drinking becomes not as much fun.

25: Joe thought 25 was a big year -- he felt grown up then. I was 25 when I came to the Observer, and still felt like a kid in a lot of ways.

29: This was the year I became an adult -- came to the Observer's main office, moved to Charlotte, survived throat cancer.

30, 40, 50, 60: Taking-stock years.

65: Retirement (maybe).

75: For some people, this is when birthdays start to get exciting again. At some point, maybe you start to feel like you're stealing years: Ha! Made it to 82! Bite me, Grim Reaper!

The terrifying, and wonderful, thing is that none of us know until we get there.

Today I'm 47. Some days I feel a lot older, and some days I feel like a little kid. Time bends and stretches, sometimes by our own hands, sometimes by hands we never see.