This is one of the reasons I love William S. Burroughs. He should be the patron saint of frustrated, aging writers like me, because he didn't even start writing until he was my age (31). He didn't really get rolling until he was not only about forty, but had already made a complete ruin of his life several times over by any reasonable standard. Burroughs is a reminder that there is no level of pathos, ill-health, or addiction that leaves you too crippled to be an icon... There might be a slim chance, but there's still a chance.

Um... Happy Birthday?

We are also the first generation of people who will have to cope with a potentially much greater lifespan than our ancestors. Some of us, in this generation, will probably live long enough to see every medical advance that extends their lie to the next medical advance that extends their life, and so on. In the not too distant future, a person in their 40s will be considered a young pup, still.

You are hardly old, my friend. Just enjoy your life and the friends you've got, and make sure to eat your daily recommended requirement of dragons.