Carey Bear XXX

"Well this is the end, Sam Gamgee," said a voice by his side. And there was Frodo, pale and worn, and yet himself again; and in his eyes there was a peace now, neither strain of will, nor madness, nor any fear. His burden was taken away. There was the dear master of the sweet days in the Shire.

"Master!" cried Sam, and fell upon his knees. In all that ruin of the world for the moment he felt only joy, great joy. The burden was gone. His master had been saved; he was himself again, he was free. And then Sam caught sight of the maimed and bleeding hand.

"Your poor hand!" he said. "And I have nothing to bind it with, or comfort it."

"The Quest is achieved, and now all is over," said Frodo. "I am glad you are here with me, Sam. Here at the end of all things."

It's October the 20th.

Big day in the world of entertainment, really. In 1973, the Sydney Opera House opened. Jerry Orbach would've turned 71, had he made it a couple of more years and Bela Lugosi would be celebrating his 124th. Viggo Mortensen is 48 and Snoop Dogg (straight outta the LBC) is celebrating his 35th.

Also, Carey Bear is 30.

I didn't like turning 30, frankly. In fact, I hated it. It felt like a Failure Number because it only managed to be a reminder of all the things I haven't accomplished. Silly, really. It's just an age and a pretty damned young one at that.

But Carey, bless her heart, strides into 30 without fear. She saw me lose it several months ago, sinking into self-loathing and depression, and decided "not for me." For Carey, it's a new beginning: a new career, a new chapter in her life. I love her. I'm proud of her. And I wanted to let her know, here, in front of all these people, why it's a big deal to me that she's 30:

Care, we met when we were kids, no doubt about it. We fell in love as a couple of swingin' teens and I think there was a part of me that half expected us to stay swingin' teens together till the clock ran out. But I guess it doesn't really work that way.

I think part of what scared me so much about turning 30, the big intimidating thing, was that it's the sort of age where you're more or less expected to be a grown-up. Neither of us went wild on the club scene or experiemented with drugs or anything like that in our 20s, despite the fact that your 20s is the age where all that is supposed to happen. Instead, we went to college and attended an awful lot of church services and married young. Just like we were supposed to.

And maybe it's easy to look at that and say we missed out. That we grew up before we had to. I've never thought of it that way, though.

In fact, when I look at you, Sweetheart, I don't really feel grown up at all. I feel young and stupid and lucky. I feel funny and arrogant. I feel alive and it's not terribly different than how I felt when we were 19. I feel like maybe I can stay young forever.

But I won't. And we won't.

We're not old, but we're not really kids anymore either. 30 scared the hell out of me, but I think I can make peace with it now that you're here too and here's why:

We can't avoid turning into grown-ups, but maybe we get to decide what it means. Maybe it can still be silly and stupid and funny and arrogant. Maybe un-grown-up mistakes are okay, as long as we make them together.

Like Frodo and Sam, clawing their way up the side of Mount Doom, I have the feeling we'll make it if we keep an eye on each other.

So, that's it. Adulthood: if you're in, I'm in.

Frankly, I'm excited to see what you decide to do with it. I've never made it much of a secret that you have much better ideas about how to do life than I do.

And goodbye, childhood. Glad to have known ye.

But I'm glad to be with you, Carey May, here at the end of all things.