Woody Allen famously said he didn’t want to achieve immortality through his work, but rather through not dying. Putting aside any medical breakthroughs in that field, or alternatively some quasi-mystical energy that I have inherited via my Scottish heritage, it’s fair to assume that living forever isn’t an option.
There is another way of living forever, of course, and it’s through those that you leave behind, the family and friends that accompany you through life and will remember you when you have gone.
Which is my rather odd way of introducing the following topic into the conversation: my beautiful wife is pregnant. Next year I will be a proud father, weeping tears of overwhelming joy like a taurine-fueled tween at a Justin Bieber signing. Or, for those of a different generation: I could not be happier if I were invited to dance on stage at a Bruce Springsteen concert.
Slightly unnerving similes aside, I am astoundingly, wonderfully, adjective-defyingly happy. Book be damned, this is the legacy that I will be most proud of.