Happy Birthday to you, Audiokarma founder Kamakiri! 
Happy Birthday to Kamakiri!
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Happy Birthday!
Thanks for AK.
Thanks for AK.
Happy Birthday!
One of the legends, happy birthday Tim.
I'll use my 17,000th post to wish you a very Happy Birthday, Tim!!!
Kamakiri
The New Dynamic
Thanks for the birthday wishes everyone! 
I'm still over at the sister VideoKarma site, stop in and say hi!
Funny, it's only now that I realize what a young p*sspot I was when AK first started...LOL.
And here I am at 45.
For those of you that are at or beyond this age, you'll completely understand this post. For those who haven't reached this age yet, this is what's to come. I'm paraphrasing something I read years back, and copied it to see if it would ring true. It absolutely does.
Trust me, it's worth a read:
Forty-five is the eye of life’s storm. The emotional drama of growing up is behind you, the physical perils of aging are still to come. In these years of quiet, it is easier to be grateful... and fearful. You are an expert on more things than you care to be, and you realize that most of your life has been of your own making. Yes, you are dealt cards that are both good and bad, but you are the one who plays them. With that realization comes a feeling of late great responsibility. You come to terms with how many moments, days, months have been lost. You constantly vow to do better, and if you're me.....you attack life with every ounce of energy in your being.
Forty-five is being grateful for friends and loved ones who are a few months older than you as they can gracefully cross that aging threshold and turn 45 first, paving your way to the next year, each year. It is acknowledging that there is no longer a first mover advantage when it comes to growing older.
At 45 your tolerance for mean people hits rock bottom. Life is too short to spend any energy on idiots. They are easier to eliminate from your life, while also easier to understand. You can’t help but pity people who hurt so much they have to make others feel badly, but you are smart enough to do so from a distance.
Forty-five is full of fleeting moments of bliss and despair as you watch your children grow up into independent young adults, thanking the universe that you raised them well in one breath, and wondering what will become of them in the other. Despite hard evidence that they are actually going to turn out okay, you remain fearful that the really deep-seated neuroses won’t manifest themselves for a few more years.
It is hanging on by your fingernails to the edge of any semblance of youth. You swear to yourself that it wasn’t that long ago that you were a 20-year-old kid — but you don’t necessarily want to be one again. You don’t "get" Snapchat -- and you don’t want to --
Forty-five is constantly counting your blessings while simultaneous trying to calculate when your luck will run out. You see pain and sadness all around you, and know it’s only a matter of time before it hits your home. You pray for all the hardships to fall on your shoulders, as opposed to those you love.
It is a juke box full of vivid memories — people, places, smells, feelings — that can be called up at a moment’s notice. But you can’t remember the exact year you had that surgery, the first name of that parent of that kid who has been friends with your kid since second grade, or to schedule your bi-annual dentist appointment. Your brain has reached capacity and to retain any additional information, some things leak out.
At 45, anyone five years younger than you is a “baby”; anyone five years older is an equal. Commiseration is a rounding up exercise.
At 45 you still don’t ever understand it all, but there is an acceptance of how this whole life thing works. You are quicker to say I’m sorry, slower to linger in spaces that feed you, and generally liberated from 80 percent of the shoulda-woulda-couldas that dominated your 30s.
It is sweating less of the small stuff, because the big stuff looms large on the horizon. But it is also loving the small stuff, and expecting less of the big stuff. Working on a project in the house on a chilly Sunday afternoon as your family happily co-exists in this home you have built trumps pretty much everything.
This is 45. This is me. Now.
I'm still over at the sister VideoKarma site, stop in and say hi!
Funny, it's only now that I realize what a young p*sspot I was when AK first started...LOL.
And here I am at 45.
For those of you that are at or beyond this age, you'll completely understand this post. For those who haven't reached this age yet, this is what's to come. I'm paraphrasing something I read years back, and copied it to see if it would ring true. It absolutely does.
Trust me, it's worth a read:
Forty-five is the eye of life’s storm. The emotional drama of growing up is behind you, the physical perils of aging are still to come. In these years of quiet, it is easier to be grateful... and fearful. You are an expert on more things than you care to be, and you realize that most of your life has been of your own making. Yes, you are dealt cards that are both good and bad, but you are the one who plays them. With that realization comes a feeling of late great responsibility. You come to terms with how many moments, days, months have been lost. You constantly vow to do better, and if you're me.....you attack life with every ounce of energy in your being.
Forty-five is being grateful for friends and loved ones who are a few months older than you as they can gracefully cross that aging threshold and turn 45 first, paving your way to the next year, each year. It is acknowledging that there is no longer a first mover advantage when it comes to growing older.
At 45 your tolerance for mean people hits rock bottom. Life is too short to spend any energy on idiots. They are easier to eliminate from your life, while also easier to understand. You can’t help but pity people who hurt so much they have to make others feel badly, but you are smart enough to do so from a distance.
Forty-five is full of fleeting moments of bliss and despair as you watch your children grow up into independent young adults, thanking the universe that you raised them well in one breath, and wondering what will become of them in the other. Despite hard evidence that they are actually going to turn out okay, you remain fearful that the really deep-seated neuroses won’t manifest themselves for a few more years.
It is hanging on by your fingernails to the edge of any semblance of youth. You swear to yourself that it wasn’t that long ago that you were a 20-year-old kid — but you don’t necessarily want to be one again. You don’t "get" Snapchat -- and you don’t want to --
Forty-five is constantly counting your blessings while simultaneous trying to calculate when your luck will run out. You see pain and sadness all around you, and know it’s only a matter of time before it hits your home. You pray for all the hardships to fall on your shoulders, as opposed to those you love.
It is a juke box full of vivid memories — people, places, smells, feelings — that can be called up at a moment’s notice. But you can’t remember the exact year you had that surgery, the first name of that parent of that kid who has been friends with your kid since second grade, or to schedule your bi-annual dentist appointment. Your brain has reached capacity and to retain any additional information, some things leak out.
At 45, anyone five years younger than you is a “baby”; anyone five years older is an equal. Commiseration is a rounding up exercise.
At 45 you still don’t ever understand it all, but there is an acceptance of how this whole life thing works. You are quicker to say I’m sorry, slower to linger in spaces that feed you, and generally liberated from 80 percent of the shoulda-woulda-couldas that dominated your 30s.
It is sweating less of the small stuff, because the big stuff looms large on the horizon. But it is also loving the small stuff, and expecting less of the big stuff. Working on a project in the house on a chilly Sunday afternoon as your family happily co-exists in this home you have built trumps pretty much everything.
This is 45. This is me. Now.
Forty-Five - the age of competence! Happy Birthday to the most competent of forum-masters!
(And don't forget to see yourself on color TV, or at least work on restoring one.)
(And don't forget to see yourself on color TV, or at least work on restoring one.)
At 54 myself I must say this is well said sir and Happy Birthday!___Thanks for the birthday wishes everyone!
I'm still over at the sister VideoKarma site, stop in and say hi!
Funny, it's only now that I realize what a young p*sspot I was when AK first started...LOL.
And here I am at 45.
For those of you that are at or beyond this age, you'll completely understand this post. For those who haven't reached this age yet, this is what's to come. I'm paraphrasing something I read years back, and copied it to see if it would ring true. It absolutely does.
Trust me, it's worth a read:
Forty-five is the eye of life’s storm. The emotional drama of growing up is behind you, the physical perils of aging are still to come. In these years of quiet, it is easier to be grateful... and fearful. You are an expert on more things than you care to be, and you realize that most of your life has been of your own making. Yes, you are dealt cards that are both good and bad, but you are the one who plays them. With that realization comes a feeling of late great responsibility. You come to terms with how many moments, days, months have been lost. You constantly vow to do better, and if you're me.....you attack life with every ounce of energy in your being.
Forty-five is being grateful for friends and loved ones who are a few months older than you as they can gracefully cross that aging threshold and turn 45 first, paving your way to the next year, each year. It is acknowledging that there is no longer a first mover advantage when it comes to growing older.
At 45 your tolerance for mean people hits rock bottom. Life is too short to spend any energy on idiots. They are easier to eliminate from your life, while also easier to understand. You can’t help but pity people who hurt so much they have to make others feel badly, but you are smart enough to do so from a distance.
Forty-five is full of fleeting moments of bliss and despair as you watch your children grow up into independent young adults, thanking the universe that you raised them well in one breath, and wondering what will become of them in the other. Despite hard evidence that they are actually going to turn out okay, you remain fearful that the really deep-seated neuroses won’t manifest themselves for a few more years.
It is hanging on by your fingernails to the edge of any semblance of youth. You swear to yourself that it wasn’t that long ago that you were a 20-year-old kid — but you don’t necessarily want to be one again. You don’t "get" Snapchat -- and you don’t want to --
Forty-five is constantly counting your blessings while simultaneous trying to calculate when your luck will run out. You see pain and sadness all around you, and know it’s only a matter of time before it hits your home. You pray for all the hardships to fall on your shoulders, as opposed to those you love.
It is a juke box full of vivid memories — people, places, smells, feelings — that can be called up at a moment’s notice. But you can’t remember the exact year you had that surgery, the first name of that parent of that kid who has been friends with your kid since second grade, or to schedule your bi-annual dentist appointment. Your brain has reached capacity and to retain any additional information, some things leak out.
At 45, anyone five years younger than you is a “baby”; anyone five years older is an equal. Commiseration is a rounding up exercise.
At 45 you still don’t ever understand it all, but there is an acceptance of how this whole life thing works. You are quicker to say I’m sorry, slower to linger in spaces that feed you, and generally liberated from 80 percent of the shoulda-woulda-couldas that dominated your 30s.
It is sweating less of the small stuff, because the big stuff looms large on the horizon. But it is also loving the small stuff, and expecting less of the big stuff. Working on a project in the house on a chilly Sunday afternoon as your family happily co-exists in this home you have built trumps pretty much everything.
This is 45. This is me. Now.
