45

I turned 45 last month. I have not dwelled too much on my last 20 or so birthdays. For some reason, though, this one got to me a little.

I started my birthday week by going to Detroit, where I grew up. That Monday afternoon, I learned that I will be recognized this fall for my place in the legal profession. I really wanted to call my Mom to tell her about it. She had wanted me to be a lawyer when I graduated from college. I needed to come to it myself, I guess. It took me five years to admit she had been right. I couldn't call my Mom, though, because she passed away a few years ago. She would have been so proud. I missed her.

That night, I had dinner with my Dad and my sister at one of the restaurants we used to go to when we were little. We joked about old times, remembered my Mom and my brother, and shared some laughs as we traded imitations of Ernie Harwell, the long time radio announcer for the Detroit Tigers. We used to listen to the Tigers together all the time; he was a big part of the soundtrack of my youth. After dinner, we visited our old neighborhood in downtown Detroit and then went out for a beer at one of my Dad's old haunts that I had always been too young to enter -- amidst a flood of fond memories of very good times I had long forgotten about.

The next day, my birthday, we attended the lunch I had flown to Detroit for - my father was among a group being honored for 50 years of service as members of the Michigan bar. This group of 40 or so men and women had been admitted to practice law in 1960. Over lunch, they looked back on their careers - and their lives – and discussed how the world had changed and what they had accomplished. Some boasted of awards they had won or honors they had received, but most seemed proudest of injustices (both large and small) they had corrected, or clients they had helped. There were some there, my father included, who had been politically active in Detroit in the 1960s. As the speakers discussed what positive change this group had seen in society, and as I heard about the positive changes many of them had helped bring about, I was humbled. Surprisingly for me, very few of them seemed interested in leaving the practice any time soon. (One judge, forced to retire due to age, had become a criminal defense attorney after decades on the bench.) I was left to wonder whether the instinct to stay involved was why this particular group was still vibrant and engaged 50 years into their careers.

The next morning I awoke to news that Ernie Harwell, the old Tiger announcer we had been talking about earlier in the week, had died. A friend pointed out a YouTube link that had Ernie's farewell broadcast on it. I used to think Ernie was the smartest guy alive. When a foul ball went into the stands, he would explain that it was caught by "a young man from Saginaw" or a "grandmother from Escanaba.". I was always impressed that he knew where everyone in Tiger Stadium lived. When I listened to his farewell broadcast, I was once again impressed with Ernie Harwell - because he approached his life with dedication and humility. As he looked back, he was able to say that he had been "blessed with a great journey."

So, I ended my birthday week reflecting on where life's journey has taken me thus far, and wondering where I would like life's journey to take me next. And, I have reflected on what I would like to be able to say when it is all said and done. If I am lucky enough to celebrate my 50th year as a lawyer, what injustice will I be able to say I have corrected? What positive social change will I have contributed to making possible? And, will my children be able to look back as fondly on their childhoods as I look back on mine?

I guess these are the sorts of things many of us are thinking about as we hit middle age. (There, I said it – we’re middle aged.) What have you been thinking about?