For all of my life, especially as a kid I had want, whether birthdays or Xmas, I wanted. Silly, materialistic, things I had no business desiring. Perhaps that's why as an adult (read-parent) I have had to come around to liking the holidays/birthdays, no kid wants a curmudgeon for a father, baby steps. Not that I was alone in wanting- I just never quite managed my expectations, something as an adult I have become quite adept at accomplishing. Presents or less concrete, ethereal goals were commonplace. Now, as I place more of my life in the past than the future I want time. Time, to climb passes I cannot pronounce so well. Time to have the fortitude to ride too far and come home shattered. Limping in on fumes, so blown food is an after thought. Chipping away at the pile of stuff that becomes more of who we are than who we are is cathartic and cleansing. Personal space in a shrinking world.