"Ballast is what I want, I totter with every breeze." John Adams

In a few weeks I'll be turning twenty six, an age, as my wife so often points out, that will result in my being old (though not as old, as I'm quick to point out, as the twenty seven she'll be turning in a few months...)

Twenty six, while generally glossed over by the the world at large as a brief stopping point between twenty one (legal drinking!) and thirty (adult life begins!) holds special significance to me. Twenty six happens to be age at which Milton wrote the sonnet from which I took the title for my blog (actually many scholars think he wrote it in his forties and my Milton professor was most likely cherry picking his dates to apply the poem to a bunch of college students, but that is neither here nor there).

While twenty six will most likely, statistically speaking, not prove to be the half-way point for my life as it was for so many in Milton's time it does provide for some introspection. I find myself grappling with many of the same issues Milton addressed centuries ago: is that "one talent which is death to hide" being developed or is it "lodged with me useless", have my choices to this point irrevocably closed doors better left open, why am I so often left feeling "light denied"?

Even though easy answers to such questions are not to be had I take solace in Milton's own response. "God doth not need either man's work or his own gifts: Who best bear his mild yoke, they serve him best."

In the 11 (!) months since my last post I've written but not finished a number of posts. At some point I reached the realization that just about anything is better than the gaping hole that is the last 12 months of my blog.

So without further ado: a half finished post from last December. I originally wanted to expound on the usefulness of seeing things from a different perspective but I think I'm just left with a fairly mundane anecdote and a thank you to a great uncle. C'est la vie.

This past week my uncle and I descended into what might be described as a "roiling debate" replete with heated exchanges, shouting, and general argumentation. In fact, we were probably only a few juvenile insults shy of being forcibly restrained by a more settled mind (read: my aunt). As it was we were exiled mid-debate from the fineries of the living-room to the chilly front porch because apparently yelling at someone less than three feet away constitutes "being too loud" (Go figure). I loved every minute of it.

The beauty of the argument for me wasn't in the well-constructed viewpoints or pithy one-liners; rather it was the opportunity to take the "other side" for once. I'm a firm believer in most conservative values and principles. But every so often it's nice to cut loose and let my inner-liberal shine. Let's legalize marijuana, redistribute the wealth, free health care for all, ad infinitum.

There's also something special about having someone with whom you can engage in fiery debate one minute and then casually comment on an upcoming sports game the next with your relationship none the worse for wear. A thousand thank you's to my uncle for filling that role for me.