A View From a Brew

What's next? I'll tell you what's next, the photos I promised from my last post, that's what's next.
So here they are, the pictures of the "little brewery by the lake". A photo documentation of what I must work with and what I'm forced to look at each and every day. It's horrible I know.
The first shot is of the brew house. The instruments of my production. It's the standard 35 hL, four vessel brew house but since it's a little larger than Magnotta's it's taken me a little longer to get to know the ins and outs of each vessel and valve.
But soon, I promise, I'll get to know this system intimately. And hopefully I'll be able to expertly play each vessel like a fine tuned instrument. Coaxing out sweet wort from it's mind boggling number of valves, like some crazy cat jazzman filling the stale, smokey bar air with magical floating bleets from his golden horn...blap, blap, bleep, blap, scat, bap, beep, bop, scat, blat, bleep, bleep, blap....and then behind him, rapping madly, keeping time on the tubs comes the, rap, rap, tap, snap, rap, rap, tap.....then in comes the keys on the Hammond B3 organ to fill the rest of the empty space, dink, dink, wha, wah, dink, tink, wah, wah....or something like that.
My first batch! At the bottom of each fermenter we lovingly label the beer, letting all visitors see what day our bouncing baby beer was born (Did I ever mention how much I hate alliteration?). Can you see the name under "Brew master" there? Yeah, that's me. Seriously though, I still have a long way to go before I'm worthy of such a lofty title.
This particular batch will be bottled and put out to market soon, so look for it on Brewer's Retail and LCBO shelves near you.

And here it is, the view from the brew house. The creamy orange morning sky resting lazily above Kempenfelt Bay as it slowly tries to rub the sleep out of it's eyes. Oh wait, no that's me with crusty globs of sleep still in my eyes. Those gnarly, beige nuggets poking the corners of my ocular cavities. This particular morning I rushed out of the house at 515am to get to work early and hopefully get my day going quickly. Instead when I got there, used the key which I had just received the day before to open the brewery, only to find that they neglected to tell me the code for the alarm system. Oh the fun you can have standing outside a Northern Ontario brewery at 630 on a December morning with the alarm system screaming at you. It brings a smile to my face just thinking about it.
When I did finally manage to get in and shut the alarm off the sun was already starting it's ascent and I was almost a full hour behind schedule. On the plus side I was able to take this picture.
And here's the, "why is it raining and Christmas is only four days away" picture.
Seriously, this is the first time I can ever remember it raining this close to Christmas. Especially in Barrie, which is like smack dab in the middle of the snow belt....hell it's like the belt-buckle of the snow belt. My first three days at the brewery, it's snowed. Two feet of the white stuff in three days. Then over the coarse of the next few weeks it warmed up, rained and melted all the Christmas away. It's not just the weather either. Does anyone think it feels like Christmas? I certainly don't. Maybe I'm just too old to have that same Christmas feeling I got when I was a kid. I don't know. But it just doesn't seem the same. Where's the anticipation? Where's that "can't wait" feeling. All I think about at Christmas is, I get a few days off, I get to see the family and then I get to party at New Years. That's about it. No "peace on earth, good will to man" shit either, just vacation, family, drunk, then back to the salt mines. Maybe someday when I have kids of my own I'll be able to get the feeling back, but until then, what's next?

Filler

What's next? I'll tell you what's next, the weekend, that's what's next. And none to soon let me tell you what.
With my first full week at The Robert Simpson Brewing Co., mercifully finished and under my belt, I've never desperatly pined for the gentle relaxing call of the weekend like this before. It's not that the work at the RSB is any harder or more demanding on my ever aging bones than that of Magnotta, it's just that it's oh so much harder to wake up at 5 in the morning then I remember. When that stupid alarm wails in my quietly sleeping ear at that ungodly hour, I feel like snapping it's cord out of the f'n wall, wrapping it up into a neat little package and punting it out the window. But usually I just swear to myself, roll out of bed, stumble around in the dark, then stub my toe as I narrowly miss castrating myself on our dangerously sharp bedposts and then cry all the way to the bathroom. It's almost enough to make me think about moving out of the city to a more Northern location just a tad bit closer to Barrie. But then I drive down Dufferin and onto Lakeshore Blvd., and I see city's coast line as it bends westward towards Mississauga along the shores of Lake Ontario and quickly remember why I love this city so much.
Sure Toronto looks great during the day, back when I used to hold down a 9 to 5, tucked away in grey cubicle in some filing cabnet off Bloor street I used to look out my window and imagine the city as a mountain range. I could see all the way to foothills of suburbia in the distant east and all the way down to the industrial area by the lake, which became the base of the range. The CN tower was like the summit that reached up and almost fingered the gray clouds looming just inches above. I could look down towards the street and see thousands of people rushing through the streams of traffic in the valleys below. All trying to make it to their destination upon boats of rubber and steel. The streets were like great chasms, boring their way through the tones and tones of girders and glass, where just a few hours ago I almost got washed away in the raging waters myself. I could see steam rising up from the cracks and fissures in the mountains across the range. Releasing the near volcanic pressures of the day that had been built up by the infinite stresses of the diligent workers inside the great man made monoliths. Yes, it is quite the city.
But it's at night when this city really shines. I still love driving into the city from the west at night. Approaching the shimiring tower lights, elevated high above ground level on the Gardiner. The city, way off in the distance appears tiny and insignifigant, but as you approach it, the towers quickly start to grow taller and taller almost touching the sky and then your in it, swallowed up by the streets and buildings. I don't know why, I've made that drive a thousand times, but I still feel the same way as I did the first time I remember doing it.
Recently I've starting running down to the lake, right along the shore, either at night or right at dusk and just watching the city as I approach it. I don't know maybe I'm just scared of being alone in the dark, but it gives me comfort to know that there are thousands of people living behind those lights off in the distance.
So although I have to struggle to get up at 5am and drive an hour to work, I don't see myself leaving this city any time soon. My life is here. My wife is here. My friends are here. My house is here. My home is here.
Anyhoo, during my first full week at RSB, I managed to brew my fist batch of Confederation Ale. I totally meant to take a picture of it too and post it on this here web blog. But lo, I forgot. It used to be that I never took pictures. In my infinate youthful wisdom I used to live by the mantra, "I don't need to take pictures. If it's important enough to me I'll remember it". Oh what a wonderful sentiment. This of course is not the case. I have all of three pictures of my University days and I've all but forgotten them. Mind you I did do a fair bit of drinking then so it's quite possible most of the damage is self inflicted. Infact my three main hobbies during those four years were drinking, eating nachos and getting fat. Never the less, if you put all of my floor mates from first year in a line up, (which for many years I regarded as one of the best and most fun years of my life), I don't think I could name any of them. So now I take pictures. Lots of them. Of my three old hobbies I still regularly practice one of them, that of course is drinking, which is probably the most harmful on me old noggin. So I promise you, there soon will be a posted picture of my new work place, it's spectacular view and of course my first batch of beer. Lest I forget it and the memory of my first batch dies and floats off to the land of ghost and wind.
So what's next?

Out With the Old, In With the Nucleus

What's next? I'll tell you what's next, a new job! That's what's next.
So the title isn't really that apt, but I just wanted to throw in an obscure Simpsons's reference somewhere. So if you don't like, go take a flying fuck at the moooooooooooooooooooon! (That was my obscure Kurt Vonnegut reference).
There, I'm done with references now.
So yeah, my days at Magnotta have offically come to an end. They were good times though. You know what they say, "you never forget your first". And Magnotta was my first brewery.
I learned a lot in my short 5 month stay at Magnotta. Mike Ligas, the brewmaster, designed some great beers and I had the destinct pleasure of making them almost every day for those five months. And Simon Cowe, yes the same Simon Cowe from the quietly forgotten band from the UK, Lindis Farne, which put out a few hits back in the early 70's, managed to impart some great brewing knowlege upon me. And lest I forget to to mention Mustaq and Erica, who also made working at Magnotta a pleasure.
But lo, those days are gone now. Vanished into memory, like so many drunken Friday nights.
And like so many rough, pasty mouthed Saturday mornings, I've picked myself up, swallowed a glass of Sumol Passionfruit drink and moved on to bigger and better things.
Robert Simpson Brewing Co! Yes, my new job and title is the brewer at The Robert Simpsons Brewing Co, the small brewing by the lake in lovely downtown Barrie. And it's not just a lovely town, but the brewery itself is astonishingly beautiful. My day to day view, is floor to celing windows that look out on to the pristine waters of Kempenfelt Bay. Much better than than my view of concrete walls inside the Magnotta Winery. Does life get any better than that? I get to brew beer whilst looking out onto a lake. Damn.
But outside of that, the people at Robert Simpson are great. Everyone seems to be part of the family there, actually a lot of people are from the same family, but you get the point. I've only worked there three days and I already feel at home.
A new adventure and a new path in that ever changing road that is life.
It's funny, when you try to go back and look at all the off ramps, short cuts and switch backs your own personal road of life has taken, it's hard to imagine that you made it to where you are in the first place.
First off, it quickly becomes quite obvious that you don't have a map. You frantically take exits or side roads that frequently lead to dead ends. You've retraced and backtracked over those same roads time and time again, hoping and praying that just one of them will lead you to that one open highway, that takes you to easy street. Where you can sit back, relax, set the car on cruise and just drive off into the sunset.
But as you get older you start to realise that it isn't so much the destination as it is the journey. The sunset is just an illusion. A mirage, mocking you.
So next time you find yourself freaking out cause your uncontrollably bombing down a twisting moutain highway, looking for the next off ramp that will hopefully slow you down and lead you the promised land. Just slow down, take you foot of the gas. Gently pull into the next rest stop. Get out of your car and enjoy the scenic vista. You'll probably find that you are right where you want to be anyways.
What's next?

Never Hear the End of It

What's next? I'll tell you what's next. Sloan at the Koolhaus, that's what's next.
It had been a while, infact this was my first Sloan show in almost four years. After Navy Blues, the next two albums where a little weak and that urgent, youthful desire to see them each time they came to Toronto had dwindled somewhat. I still remember eargerly flipping through Now and Eye Magazine each week, checking the listings to see who was coming to town that month. If Sloan was in the listing, I was off to the Ticketmaster wicket to get my seats for the show. I just couldn't miss it man, I mean, what if this was their last show! Heaven forbid!
But alas, those days are over now and for what ever reason I just couldn't make it off the couch to go check them out for the last few years. But after their lastest release, Never Hear the End of It, which saw them return to form, I figured it was about time that I went out and saw one of my old favourites again.
Standing there on the Koolhauses' expansive concrete floor amid a sea of teenage girls and twenty somethings, it quickly dawned on me that I was in the minority. I was now the creepy, older guy standing at the back of the show, with a beer in one hand, the and the other in my pocket. Too tired and too cool to go up to the front and start dancing, I've been relegated to the back, to sip my beer and mouth the words in relatively quiet seclusion.
I'm okay with that. And as Mike D, Toby and I were standing on the floor waiting for the show, discussing bands we like and cool shows we've seen over the years, I began looking around at all the young people , wearing clothes that I don't understand and drinking those super sugary alcho-pops instead of beer and I started to think about my Dad. When he was thirty would he be at a concert on a Thursday night, pulling pints like there the last beers on the planet. No I don't think he would be. For starters music wasn't a big part of our lives growing up. My parents didn't impart any of their worldly musical knowledge upon us. Forcing their favourite bands down our thoat in an attempt to get us to love the things that they loved. Infact in our childhood car, a large orange Chevy van, the kind oft described in Police issued warnings about a kidnapper on the loose, we only had a few tapes to choose from. Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA, Men at Work Business as Usual and a selection of Esso's Solid Gold 50 tapes that you ould buy at any of their gas pumps. So no, my parents weren't big music freaks. But mostly I can't picture my Dad at a concert because when he was at the age I am now, he had three kids, a house, a dog and lived in small town Northern Ontario. I'm not saying that what I'm doing at thirty is any better or worse I'm just saying it's different. He was already a responsible adult. I' m still waiting for that proverbial slap in the face from the adult Gods, telling me to get my shit together.
When I think about the age thirty, it sounds old to me. But then I say to myself, "but dude, your thirty"! And I don't feel old. I'm just as old as I am. And I'm not old.
Am I supposed to have kids now? Am I supposed to want to stop going to concerts and getting drunk on a school night? Am I supposed to want to settle down? And if I am supposed to do these things, when? Now? When am I going to want this?
You look at your parents as a template for adult hood. They are your role models. But when I look at my life and compare it too my parents, they just aren't that similar.
Maybe I'm just a big kid and I'm refusing to grow up and face the music. Or maybe thirty is the new twenty. I don't know. I haven't figured it out yet. When I do, I'll let you know.
Anyhoo, back to the show.
As far as Sloan shows go, this was middle of the road. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either. Maybe it was just me. I was there but I wasn't in to it like I was when they played those 4 nights at the Palais Royal back in the day. I can remember being right at the front, the floor boards heaving under my feet as the sweaty, mass of arms and legs jumped in unison around me, shouting SLO-OAN, SLO-OAN, SLO-OAN. Now that was a rock show.
I don't know, maybe I'm just getting old. Maybe next time I should just stay home and read a review of the show in the paper the next week. Then again, maybe not.
What's next?

Rocking Your F#@$ing Socks Off

What's next? I'll tell you what's next, Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny, that's what's next.
But first a little run on sentence rant. You know what sucks, and when I say sucks I mean draws air, massive amounts of dung filled air and when I say dung filled air, I don't mean pu-ehr that aged and oxidized Chinese tea that smells like mouldy cave rocks, but shit, shit filled air. Movies. Movies that you are totally stoked to see and have been waiting patiently for months, checking out trailers, reading websites and blogs put on by other losers with just a slight bit more free time than you, extolling there opinions, leaked footage and "inside" information on the movie. And then just a few weeks before opening day, you get your first glimpses of the movie on TV, with trailers that many times give away entire chunks of the film that make spending the $12 to see what many times turns out to be a complete waste of celluloid a total waste of money. (I'm looking at you Star Wars.) That's what really sucks man.
But you know what didn't suck....Tenacious D and the Pick of F'n Destiny man, that's what didn't suck.

Now with that being said, if you know what Tenacious D are about, then you know exactly what to expect from a this movie.

If you go in expecting an Oscar worthy performance by JB and KG, with deep character roles and a riveting story that delves into the true meaning of mans inhumanity towards man, then you are either;

A) An idiot

B) A movie reviewer from some back woods, religious, mid-western state

or C) Both

This movie is about rocking your collective socks off, fart jokes, bong hits and did I mention rocking your socks off?

I may be getting older and approaching my dreaded "adulthood", but the day I find a fart joke not funny is the day you can throw my cold dead body in the ground.

The laughs, the rocking and the cameos come fast and early. You pretty much have to take a second look at each supporting character to see who they are. The best being, Tim Robbins and Dave Grohl (I had no idea that it was Dave Grohl till I saw the credits).

Anyhoo, the movie was fun, easy going and filled with a monster amount of sock rockin' riffs. I don't want to give away too much, cause I think you should all go out and see it on your own.

Actually I can't wait to see it again at home on DVD. I'll invite Gary over, we'll relax on the couch with some M & M's and beer and have a private viewing of our own. He always makes movies way more fun and I think that this one will be no exception.

So with Borat being as awesome and over the top as it was and Tenacious D being way fucking awesome too, that makes two for two in movies that I've been stoked to see and haven't sucked.

Which is pretty much the longest streak since as far back as I can remember.

Grey Cup 2006

What's next? I'll tell you what's next. Grey Cup 2006, that's what's next.
For 30 years I've managed to avoid the entire province of Manitoba. In fact I was convinced that if Manitoba were to suddenly fall of the map, if it were some how sucked into James Bay, no one would notice. One day you'd just be driving along, taking a short little jaunt through Northern Ontario and you'd make a quick left and suddenly find your self in Saskatchewan. You'd pause, stop the car for a tick, look around and then ask you're passenger, "Wasn't there something here before?"
They'd answer back, "No. But we did get to Saskatchewan remarkably quickly."
Then you'd both shrug and continue on driving into the giant field of grain that's right in front of you for like the next day.
Well no more people. I finally made it. And boy it was everything I thought it would be...and more!
Thanks to the good people at TSN (Ed and Allen) my buddy Adam and I were invited to Winnipeg to join in the festivities and take in the 94th edition of the Grey Cup. Well it wasn't so much as WE that were invited as it was Adam, but either way I managed to nudge my way in on the deal. So on Saturday we jumped onto Air Canada flight AC 254 and headed Northwest to the province everyone forgot about and it's capital city Winnipeg.
The first night was a black tie dinner on the floor of the MTS centre followed by a Tom Cochrane and the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra concert. Now I'm not really a big Tom Cochrane fan, in fact when I hear the first few chords to "Life is a highway", I'm instantly rushed back through time to the magical summer of Grade 9 when both my brother and sister owned that wonderful CD and played in pretty much every waking minute of the day. And when they weren't playing it, it was almost definitely playing on the radio somewhere. Oh, what a time it was. Needless to say I'd rather stick a searing hot fork in my eye than here that song, but since I was hear on the TSN buck, I put the fork out of reach, sat on my hands and grinned through the entire show. Well that plus I slammed a few beers down to calm my nerves.
After dinner we headed out to Winnipeg's new hot spot, (yes, believe it or not Winnipeg does have hot spots) "Alive". The bar was good, the beer was free, but after a few hours Adam and I thought it best to go explore the Winnipeg bar scene. We hit up a few pubs then ended up back at the hotel bar and drank with a few out of towners who were in for the game.
It's amazing really, they say that hockey is our "National Winter Sport", but if you want a true slice of Canadiana you have to go to the Grey Cup. There are so many people who travel from all over the country, Newfoundland to Victoria, every year just to take in the game, it really let's you appreciate just how small our giant country is.
Anyhoo, after a few beers down in the hotel bar we headed up stairs to pass out. But low and behold some thoughtless stranger stole a sign from the restaurant lobby and left it in our elevator. Who were we to refuse such a gift. So we take the sign out of the elevator and start to lean the sign up against the first door we see, giving it what we used to so lovingly call "A Leaner". But no sooner had we started with the leaner, when the police came around the corner.
Well that was pretty much that, they yelled at us a little and told us to get to our rooms....quickly. Which we did. But low and behold when we got there our key didn't work. So I thought it best that I should hold the fort and Adam should go down to the lobby to get a new key. Three subsequent trips later, each time a new key and each time no dice, I finally passed out in the hallway outside our room. I was awoken minutes later with another police officer yelling at Adam to get in the room. Luckily this time the key worked.
Funny thing is, last time Adam and I went to the Grey Cup (in Ottawa) we had to be let into our rooms by a police officer. Meh, these things happen I guess.

The next day, Grey Cup Sunday, Adam and I headed out bright and early to find a brew pub so we could get primed for the game. We walked for about and hour in the near freezing, windy weather only to discover that the brew pub had closed. So we walked about another half hour before we found a place that was open, The Pony Corral. It sorta sounded like a gay bar, but being that this was Winnipeg and not the corner of Church and Wellesley, we decided to take our chances. Three hours and countless drinks later it was almost game time. So off we went back to the hotel to get ready and head out to the stadium.

The game itself wasn't that great. In fact it was one of the worst Grey Cups in recent memory. I think there were two touchdowns in the entire game and Montreal only had one first down in the first half. But much like the Super Bowl, it's not just about the game, but the spectacle. And what a show it was. The good people from Winnipeg and the CFL put on a great show that was enjoyed by not only the sell out crowd but the countless people around the country watching the game on the CBC. I think BC won. Then the Grey Cup broke. Only in Canada could that happen. Imagine what kind of scandal there would be if the Super Bowl Trophy broke? As ugly as that trophy is, I don't think it would ever break on National television.

So full of fun...and beer....but mostly beer, we headed out into the night to enjoy the festivities around Winnipeg. I'm not sure how many bars we went too but somewhere along the way we managed to pick up these replica uprights which we took with us around the city. Most of the cabbies were quite happy to allow us to use there trunks and bungee cords as we carted these stupid, yet awesome goal posts around with us.

This is just an awesome sign we saw. I might not have been able to find Manitoba but Syphilis apparently did. And it's taking it by storm baby!

All and all the weekend was a smashing success. I finally made it to Winnipeg. We got drunk. We saw the 94th Grey Cup. We got drunk. We met some wonderful Canadians from sea to shining sea. We got drunk. We were accosted by some police. We got drunk. We found some goal posts and we got drunk.
The sun might be setting on my youth but I think I can still manage to have a good time.

Oh and by the way, it's Adam's 30th birthday today. Welcome to the club old man.

Canadian Beer Awards

What's next? I'll tell you what's next, the Canadian Beer Awards, that's what's next.
This past Thursday I had the pleasure of attending my first ever Canadian Beer Awards Gala ceremony, presented by Taps Media at the Theatre Digital in Toronto.
Still in it's infancy, the Canadian Beer Awards are moving into just their fifth year of existence but from what I witnessed on Thursday night the snowball is heading down hill and picking up some of that packy snow you used to relish as a child and shows no signs of slowing down.
While we are on the subject, do you remember that? Packy snow? Remember when you used to be able to distinguish between different types of snow? There was the aforementioned packy snow, which was wet and sticky and great for making snowballs, snowmen and other snow related sculptures. But it usually left your snow pants completely soaked by the end of the day. Then there was powdery snow. It was light and airy and was basically useless when it came to snowball making. But what it was excellent for GT snow racing and making new toboggan runs through the trees. Then there was that hard packed icy snow that formed a crusty layer across the snow. That shit was completely useless and good for basically nothing but breaking off chunks and throwing at kids younger and smaller than you.....anyhoo, where was I? Oh yeah, the Canadian Beer Awards.
Judged by BJCP certified judges and with 21 different style categories and showcasing entries from coast to coast this was truly a national event.
The Gala began with what else but a sampling of some of Ontario's fine microbrewed beers. I say Ontario's and not Canada's fine micorbrewed beers because the douche bags over at the LCBO decided to not let any of the contestants from out of province bring their beers to the Gala for sampling. I mean far be it for them to allow some of the best beers in our nation be showcased for beer drinkers who may want to buy these products in the future. I mean, where are they going to buy it anyways? Oh, right they have to buy it from them cause they are part of a government sanctioned monopoly....but wait, I'm sorry, I'm not going to go into the whole rant about the completely asinine beer laws in this province. I'll save that for another post.
So after sampling a few of the beers it was time for the awards. Which for the record were done in exactly one hour, which was perfect.
Clearly the two biggest winners on this evening were Swan's Brewpub from Victoria, which took home twelve awards and was given an Honorable mention in a new CBA category, the 2006 Brewpub of the year.
The other big winner being Magnotta Breweries in Vaughn. Which took home 5 gold medals and 1 bronze medal for the 6 beers it entered in the competition. And for doing so, also took home the big prize of the evening the Canadian Brewery of the Year Award for 2006. Now I think it's worth mentioning here that I'm actually a brewer at the Magnotta Breweries...not that I really had anything to do with these awards, as they were actually selected back in May, a good two months before I started....but none the less, it's nice to know that you work at a brewery that makes really good beer and you are contributing to the beer community in a positive way.
And that was the main thing I took away from this evening (other than the copious amount of free beer), the sense of community. There was no snobbery, no catty in-fighting, just a sense of genuine happiness for the winners and participants. The Canadian beer industry (outside of the big two) is basically a small, but growing, industry. As Mike Ligas, the Brewmaster and my boss at Magnotta put it, "It's a big country, but it's a small industry". But with all the small guys banding together to create a larger, more sold unit the future of microbrewing in Canada has never looked better.
So yeah, it took me 30 years to get to my first ever beer awards and it was wonderful. Pretty much exactly what I imagined a beer awards ceremony would be, beer and prizes.
So what's next?

Life Begins at 30

This is me at 30.

There is some kind of stigma, some deeply ingrained idea, an unwritten rule if you will, floating around out there amogst the general population, that by the time you're thirty you're supposed to be a grown up. Respectable. Responsible. Reliable. The 3 big R's.

I've been 30 for 10 days now and I still don't feel any different. (I'm still actually wearing the same mask and clothes. (They are now permanently fused to my skin)). Don't get me wrong, I think that I am most of those things, (with or without the crotch hugging speedo's) I just don't feel like a grown up yet.

The title of this blog is A Mid Mid Life Crisis. I don't actually feel like I'm having a mid mid life crisis, infact I'm quite comfortable and happy with my life as it stands right now. And for the most part I was before I freaked out, quite my comfortable 9 to 5 office job, moved half way around the world for 6 months, learned how to brew beer, moved back and began my new career as a brewer.

I had and still have a wonderful wife, I was and still am surrounded by a great circle of family and friends and I had and still have a nice house in a city I love terribly.

I think that when they say you are having a mid mid life crisis, it's not the things that you have that get you worried and keep you up at night. It's not that you want to give up or change the things you love in your life, for me personally I'm quite fond of pretty much everything in my life. It's the things you don't have and haven't achieved that begin to worry you.

Unlike the cliched male mid life crisis at like 50 where you abandon everything that is important in your life, like your family and friends for a flashy new car and a trophy wife in a vain pursuit to recapture a lost youth. The mid mid life crisis is more about embracing your new found adult hood and freedom. Enjoying it so that when you look back in twenty years you don't regret anything.

Thirty isn't old, don't get me wrong. I still feel young and I probably will for a long time. But as I approached the dreaded 3-0, there was this nagging feeling that if I didn't act now, if I didn't take the chance, this would be it. I would be staring at the rest of my life at that very moment. I was always going to be working at the same job, doing the same work, in the same cubicles for the rest of my life. Mind you, this wouldn't neccessarily be a bad thing. It was a fun job, it paid well and I met many of my friends while working in this job. In fact I've had many experiences that I probably never would've if it weren't for this job. But it just wasn't for me. I didn't want to do it any more.

I didn't want to give up my wife, I didn't want to give up my family, my friends or my house. All of these pieces of my life were great and made me happy. But now that I was looking at thirty I felt that maybe I would never get to take another chance at a new career.

So I leapt. I jumped at the first inkling of a dream. Thus ironically proving that I was still terribly young.

The first lesson I learned after I turned 30 was that, you really aren't any older than you were the day before. Life isn't over. It's not disappearing on you. There is still lots of time to do everything that you want to do. Patience.

I don't regret leaving and going to Berlin for 6 months, but I do regret missing those 6 months with my wife. In hind sight, I could've waited for another year and maybe we could've gone together. But this is another part of getting older. Of becoming a grown up. Of turning 30. Learning.

And that is what this blog is going to be about. My first year as a a thirty year old. My first year as a "grown up". What I accomplish and where I fail. I've already gotten my first job as a brewer. I've already ran my first half marathon. I've already vomited on my feet and been carried out of a bar.

What's next.