Today is that day: the anniversary of the day I Popped Out, and the world gave a tiny collective shudder — no one knowing exactly why — as my infant screams heralded the coming End of Days. I am not seeking any special attention for this, as I think we can all agree that being born is just about the least that can be expected of any of us. This being the trigentennial (30th) Andyversary, however, I’m giving in to the peer pressure and allowing for a little extra reflection on the event.

Birthdays (and so-called milestone birthdays in particular) always bring out one of the Top Five Most Annoying Questions: “How does it feel?” Well, Aunt Josephine, since I didn’t sprout an extra row of teeth or manifest any fresh psychic abilities, it feels pretty much the same as it felt yesterday, and last year. I don’t feel old and I don’t certainly don’t feel three decades old, and I think that’s really all that matters.

I’ll admit, though, that a few things have changed since my last tens-digit swap. I don’t see myself hanging from any more pipes, and I feel confident that my days of walking around malls in a gorilla suit are behind me. I don’t do the outright silly things I used to, just because they amused me and my friends. Those are just superficial matters, though. The biggest change I’ve noticed since November 16, 1996 concerns the passage of time.

Because my birthday lies fairly close to Christmas, they have always been somewhat linked…and Christmas is actually a good example of what today has caused me to think about.

Every year stores get a bigger head start on the holiday season, and nowadays we have lights and holly wreaths festively adorning the mall on Labor Day. “Already?!” people complain disgustedly, not relishing the reminder of the stress and hassle that are theirs to enjoy in a few short weeks. Ten years ago, my voice would have been heard joining this ornery chorus. It does still annoy me that the early Christmasification detracts from Halloween (my favorite holiday), and after all, it really is just an attempt to amplify the season that actually feeds so many of these business owners. But actually, there’s a very good reason to welcome a longer Christmas season, and my thirtieth birthday brings it a little more into focus.

Anyone who’s had a few years to marinate in the tepid stew of adulthood has noticed Time stepping on the gas, and nowhere is this more evident than during the holidays. As kids, the Christmas season seemed to go on and on, as the anticipation grew and there was no more exciting prospect than to cross out another day on the calendar until Santa came. As an adult, on the other hand, it seems like you’re taking down your Christmas tree before your Thanksgiving turkey has had time to digest. Adult years are a lot like dog years, except that dogs get a lot more free time.

So, let the season get longer. Let the stores put up those blinking lights and motorized reindeer in August if they want to. If it allows us, as adults, to maintain our grip on even a sliver of that holiday glee we enjoyed as kids, I think it’s worth a little more crass consumerism. That’s the true revelation of a birthday like this one: it brings into perspective just how badly the clock has begun to cheat us.

One of the characters in my favorite novel, realizing that time seems to speed up when you’re happy and slow down when you aren’t, determines to extend his life by being miserable all the time. I don’t quite advocate that approach, but I sympathize with his plight. Thirty years weren’t enough time to live before turning thirty, and the weeks and months seem to slip through my fingers with increasing speed each passing year. However, as I said at the beginning, it’s all about how you feel. Time may sprint away from me as fast as it can, but today, yesterday and tomorrow, I feel young as ever. Bring on the next thirty.