I’ve sometimes argued with folks about the existence of this day. “May has 30 days,” they’ll say. “We’re sure of it.” And in the old days, when May 30 was Memorial Day, May 31 did seem like an afterthought. An inconspicuous date tucked between two showy months. A sliver of a possibility. An opening.

I know May 31 exists because it’s my birthday. But now that I’m older I wouldn’t mind if we skipped it every year. I would still be here, would still exist (non-existence being the chief reason to embrace the birthday when it comes, since it is ever so much better than the alternative), but I would be spared the reminder that I’m another year older.

It’s not that I’m a birthday dreader. I’ve always approached the day with an attitude of celebration. It’s just that time moves so quickly; there is so much to do and an ever-declining amount of time to do it in.

But May 31 is still on the calendar, and I’m still here, so there is nothing left to do but to greet the day and live the day and think about all that other stuff tomorrow.