You remember this clip from Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, right?
The answer to life, the universe and everything is 42.
Well, being that it’s the beginning of my 42nd trip around our star, along with the incredible epiphany I had in the car on the way back from my cancelled Global Leadership class, the clip seemed an appropriate way to start the post.
I’m beginning to think Douglas Adams was right. 42, only a few hours into it, seems to hold a lot of answers already.
You do realize it’s a multiple of seven, right?
Well today, oddly enough, I’m in the exact same spot I was in 14 years ago, exactly to the day.
It’s also the reason why my Spago tradition exists in the first place.
At 28, I discovered my boyfriend at the time making out with another girl on my birthday. Because of the young man I was seeing at the time, I lost my place to live. At that moment, the only place I had to go to collect my thoughts was Spago. David, the bartender at the time, at hearing my story, poured me a glass of champagne. A few moments later, a Creme Brulee showed up with a sparkler in it.
I’ve celebrated my birthday like that every single year since outside of three years in Montreal and sad to say, this year.
At 42, Ace kicked off my day by yelling at me, then when I finally had reached my zenith for his ignorant, tantrum-throwing demeanor, and after seven months of living together in which I watched some of the most horrifying behavior I have ever witnessed, I gave as good as I got and went toe to toe with him, even when he got into my face in a physically threatening posture. When he finally realized I wasn’t going to back down and acquiesce as usual (which let him get away with his atrocious behavior), he threw me out.
So, I’ve lost my place to live again, which is the second time it has happened due to Ace’s presence in my life.
Remember when I wrote “The Sophomore and the Precipice?” I never knew how accurate my insight was when I wrote “And that’s followed by the sound a death wail from a person that just fell off a cliff and plummeted to their death.”
When I began dating Ace, the cliff I fell off of is accurately pictured as one the size of Yosemite Falls:
When I die, in my casket before I’m cremated, I want Teddy tucked under my right arm and have the Myst Reader opened to page 818 in my left hand. If someone will do that for me, I’ll be thrilled because Teddy and I have been together now for 37 years. He’s the only guy I know that I’m willing to spend extended periods of time with as he understands my need for silence. And at least he doesn’t slam doors, throw things, rearrange things incessantly in a vain effort to gain control over a life that he has clearly no control over, not to mention neglect or being unable to complete anything because he incessantly derails himself every time he goes into an estrogen-filled rage because someone could possibly be smarter than he is.
Among the things I’ve accrued while under the influence of Ace is a weighted blanket so I can feel held and a ‘stunt double’ who will fill in without hesitation, just as long as it has fresh batteries. As far as I’m concerned, who needs a man in their lives when there are perfectly acceptable low-drama substitutes?
My birthday may have started horribly and I have no idea where I’ll sleep tomorrow night, but at least I can say with a smile that 42 is the answer to life, the universe and everything. It has taught me that while I might not live in a million dollar house, I know I’m worth more than a dime.