I am currently in San Francisco visiting friends and waiting for my flight back on Tuesday. The bartender at the bar down the road noticed that my drivers license was expiring today (my birthday) and I realized that attempting to fly with an expired license was probably a bad idea. (Terrorist are notorious procrastinators. It's a fact.)

While waiting for my giant, bingo-like number to be called—G241—I had time to think about the last time I renewed my license. It was my birthday and I didn't have a house. I hadn't created FilePile. I hadn't written five years worth of code at work or solved five years worth of problems. I lived in the heart of LA and spent Sundays on the floor picking through the LA Times while I drank coffee.

I was 27 and had recently made a bit of money by cashing in some stock. Life was pretty good and I remember feeling like my future was still pretty wide open. Lot's of people were pretty optimistic.

Of course, life got even better. It keeps getting better. There's a bit of excitement when your number gets close...G237...G239...G240...

When I'm 37 and it's my birthday, and I've forgotten to renew my license again, I just know I'll be at the DMV, smiling at how fortunate I've been.