One of my late grandfathers used to write, "Congratulations on entering your 21st year" instead of saying happy birthday. The meaning being that while I was officially turning 20, I was entering that fabled 21st year. It took a letter to Grandpa to straighten it all out (I thought he had gotten a little confused about my age, as I assumed most Grandpas do), but now I like looking at birthdays that way. It's like looking to the future instead of celebrating the past. So in a few weeks I'll be entering my 30th year, and, as always happens to me at this time of year, I've been thinking about the past.

There are more reasons than just the birthday coming up for this whole looking back thing. A writing project I'm currently working on deals a lot of with past eras, old modes of thought, long forgotten glam rock CDs and the like. In addition to this, I've been putting together recordings some friends and I taped back in the day so I can record them digitally. The idea isn't that these songs and comedy skits are anything astounding (other than the fact that we thought they were important enough to record in the first place), but that the record of their existence would be lost if they stayed on unlabled cassette tapes. And there is something about listening to yourself and others from ten years ago that brings up fits of giggles. Some laughs completely intentional and others the result of perspective.

Mistakes were made. This is always the first thought that pops up whenever I think about way back when. I should have done this differently. I should have practiced more. I should have given it away for free. And, in some cases, I probably shouldn't have even offered. But once I get past what went wrong, there's always that nice pot full of what went right. A cozy little place that has been examined and re-examined in my mind so much that I'd feel comfortable stepping back into that mode--except that we'd all be different people now. We are not the same as we were back then. An thank whoever. Or whatever or whenever it was that changed me-then to me-now.

I've lived a few lives in the last 10 years. I've seen hundreds of bands play hundreds of loud shows. I've talked to thousands of people whose names I didn't even find out in the first place. I've searched for vegetarian fare in downtown Albuquerque at seven in the evening on a weeknight. I've smoked hundreds of joints ("You gotta go outside for that, man") with various band members of various bands after many a show. I've quaffed thousands of gallons of Guinness and Dos Equis or whatever was on sale during those hundreds of shows. I've never spilled one drink (but a few have been spilled for me).

Although there was one time at the Frontier in the middle of the night when I was drinking a Sprite, thinking about writing a few notes on the notepad in my backpack, reached out for the cup and spilled the entire 32 oz. of clear carbonated liquid all over the table and onto the empty booth seat in front of me. I was completely sober.

My hearing is going (the loud shows and years of playing drums, hitting stuff as hard and loud as I could), my eyesight has little dark spots occasionally from looking at the sun (but I can still barely pass the driving eyesight test) and the blonde streak in my dark hair (a birthmark) increasingly looks like it's turning gray. My bones and muscles pop and groan during my personalized yoga-esque workout. None of this really bothers me, but I notice it and realize that none of these things are ever going to get better. My body can only heal itself so much from the abuses of the past. And I can't stop staring at the sun.

I have a couple hundred CDs from the late 80s and early 90s that, until recently, I couldn't listen to. All sex and self-satisfaction set to power chords and keyboard fills. And now, like my own music from the same time, it amuses me. I laugh at the guy I was and appreciate being a better man now. Someday I will be a different man and I'll laugh in much the same way about my mindset now.

But now, as the beginning of my 30th year approaches, I feel good. Maybe that's why it doesn't hurt to look back now. I don't have to cringe about the past because I'm not bleeding all over the present. Does this mean I'm getting complacent? Should I stop listening to neo-punk and go totally nostalgic in my music picks? And how sad is it for a man in his 30th year to pogo along to hyper kinetic beats and bleats?

I may feel good, but I'm not satisfied. And maybe that's why I'm feeling so good now. I know there is a future to step into.

Matt Worley promises to be less than syrupy next week, but the pancakes were so good this morning.