Last week I went out with a group of friends to celebrate, yes you’ve got it, someone’s 50th birthday. Actually two somebodies as these friends, Tom and Greg, were born just hours apart. While we drank good alcohol from around the world, gorged on a dozen different kinds of beef and meat products at the fine Brazilian steakhouse, Fogo de Chao, and then stuffed ourselves with Dyan’s home-baked cookies and other rich deserts, someone else we all know, not personally, but know OF, was also spending his birthday somewhere. Osama bin Laden turned 50 on the day we all went out, March 10th, and I couldn’t help but be struck by the irony of the situation and also wonder how he was spending this milestone day. Somehow I doubt he was feasting, celebrating or even drinking anything beyond some lukewarm tea. Its also quite likely he didn’t even bother to celebrate the day, or even know it was his 50th birthday. I also suspect that he doesn’t consider this to be the midpoint of his life, nor does he miss hanging out with buddies and eating deliciously grilled beef. But I also can’t help but wonder whether despite the glaring differences in our lives, the hardships he has chosen to live under and the distorted reality under which his brain functions, he was just as happy in his little cave-world as were my friends and I in ours.
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