Against All Available Evidence...

Some birthday reflections on luck, questionable decisions, gratitude, and turning another year older

A not-insignificant number of years ago today, July 14th, I entered the world in a hospital in Philadelphia. I’m not going to lie, the transition from warm, quiet, and all-inclusive to... whatever this is... has been challenging from the jump.

I’ve been trying to get comfortable ever since.

Truth be told, I’ve never fully recovered from the experience. Life is wonderful, of course. It’s also unbelievably hard. Just about the time you think you’ve got it figured out, it changes the rules, picks your pocket, and asks if you’d like to upgrade to the premium package.

It doesn’t exactly help when your origin story includes growing up broke with two parents who probably could’ve benefited from a few decades of therapy before deciding to have children. But hey, everybody gets something. Some people inherit trust funds. Others inherit generational trauma. I got a decent sense of humor out of the deal, so I suppose it all balances out.

Besides, the very first thing they do after you’re born is smack you on the ass until you start bawling. It ain’t a medical procedure, it’s an orientation. Welcome to Earth. It doesn’t really get easier, but if you’re lucky, you’ll develop coping mechanisms.

Not that I’m complaining.

Well... not only complaining.

Because despite every setback, every rejection, every bad bet, every spectacular own goal, and every morning I’ve woken up wondering what fresh hell the day had in store... I’m still here. And once you get to my age, that starts to feel less like a given and more like something worth celebrating.

I’ve somehow managed to keep a full head of hair, most of my internal organs still report for duty, and I continue to make a living by talking to people about booze, writing books that occasionally trick strangers into thinking I’m intelligent, and talking into microphones long enough that people voluntarily download the results. It’s an absurd career path, and I’m grateful every single day that it’s mine.

More than anything, though, I’m grateful for the people who’ve made the journey worthwhile.

My family. My friends. The editors who kept assigning me stories. The publishers who took chances on my books. The publicists and brand folks who’ve trusted me with theirs. The guests who’ve come on the podcast. The readers who keep reading. The listeners who keep listening. And everyone who’s laughed at a joke, bought a book, shared a column, recommended the podcast, or simply stuck around longer than common sense would suggest.

I don’t say it often enough, but none of this exists without you.

Birthdays have a funny way of making you take inventory. Sure, there are things I’d do differently. Plenty of them. There are people I wish I’d been kinder to, opportunities I should’ve seized, and investments I absolutely should not have made in WeWork.

But mostly, I feel lucky. Lucky that I get to do work I genuinely love. Lucky that curiosity still gets me out of bed in the morning. Lucky that I still have stories I want to tell, places I want to see, doors I want to open, and conversations I can’t wait to have.

And lucky that, against all available evidence, people continue to come along for the ride. So thanks for that. It means more than you know.

Speaking of people coming along for the ride...

As fate (or clever scheduling) would have it, today also happens to be the 350th episode of What We’re Drinking with Dan Dunn. To celebrate, I rounded up some of my favorite people in the spirits world—friends of the show and friends of mine—for what turned into the biggest, most ambitious episode we’ve ever produced. We laugh, we reminisce, we raise a few glasses, and, in keeping with the occasion, I become the target of a fair amount of good-natured abuse. If you’ve got an hour or two to spare and you’d like to help make an old(er) guy’s birthday a little happier, I’d be honored if you’d give it a listen. I think you’ll have a good time.

Thanks again for reading. Thanks for listening. And thanks for making this strange, improbable life of mine possible.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to celebrate another birthday... and maybe pay a visit to the doctor who slapped me moments after I was born. I’ve been waiting a long, long time for a rematch.

Cheers,

Dan