Thirty and counting.

I am blessed. Richly. Immensely. Undeservedly.

I have an occupation that causes many to accuse me of not doing anything (really). Yet carried out right, my work has the capacity to genuinely affect lives.

I have driven cars which I never expected to be driving. The first car I bought was Jeep. I've taken a car to 220kmh. I've driven through floods, the water half way up the door of a 4x4. I can parallel park.

I've read much. I've travelled some.

I have met many people—a number of those I can now honestly call good friends. Friends who are funny, intelligent, lovers of food. Friends who are most certainly snobs.

I've had wonderful arguments. Childish ones. Sweet ones. Horrid all-nighters. I've bought flowers on a whim. Dozens. Single long-stemmed. I have loved. I've had a ring returned.

My woes, however real, are the afflictions of the privileged. The anxiety of choice. The schedule of bills. The worries of love: lost or found. Facebook versus Friendster.

I belong to a family. Caring, supportive, quirky and over-bearing. I have a place there.

I've won some and, as the saying goes, I've lost some. I've done wrong. Enough to warrant being called an ass (even more). As many times as I erred, I've been forgiven. Numerous times over.

Most of the sentences in this post began with I. That is quite misleading. However much this post seems to be about me, it isn't. It would be audacious to think that I made the last 30 years happen. A lot of it, if not all of it, is owed to Providence and Grace. Perhaps the best thing I can show for 30 years is this: a faith intact.

Sincerely, I thank you all.