The Midpoint

I'm turning 39 next month.

That's not necessarily the halfway point of my life -- most of my grandparents lived well into their eighties, if not beyond -- but it's probably reasonably close.

I'm writing from the labor and delivery room in Sunnyside hospital, where Jill and I are very much in a "hurry up and wait" mode. The next time I return home, I'll be a parent. That also feels very much like a line that divides one's life in half -- before and after kids.

And of course, we're coming up on a major change in American history, one that also feels like it could become a historic before-and-after line -- this time for American democracy itself. The hope is obviously that this is just ("just") four years that need surviving (and I've been reminded that there are worse times to be distracted from the woes of the world by a 0 - 4 year old than 2025 - 2028). But it does not strike me as implausible that the damage that is about to be unleashed upon America is not something that will be contained to just four years. It may not be something that can be healed in my lifetime, or ever. It's very possible we have reached an epochal pivot point, in which much of which many of us have taken for granted about America will lie forever in the "before" time.

I'm basically saying what Alexandra Petri said already, only much less eloquently. But indulge me a little.

It's not often that life so neatly divides itself into such distinct eras. Normally that's a function of narrative convenience or arbitrary labeling. But right now, it really does feel like I stand on a precipice -- for myself, for my family, for my country. It's staggering, and glorious, and terrifying.

It's time for Part II.