A week ago, I passed the quarter century mark. It strikes me as an interesting number. I cannot say I feel any different, but there is something fascinating when I think about the number. Perhaps more than feeling older, I do feel sort of like I should have accomplished more thus far than I have.

Many of the great poets had written their master works by the time they were 25. On the other hand, many of the great poets were dead within ten years of their twenty fifth birthday. Keeping that in mind, perhaps it is quite good that I keep plowing along, slowly but surely.