growing in contentment

As I write this, my 33rd birthday slowly but surely is slipping further and further into the past.

Thirty-three doesn't seem like a particularly significant milestone. For one thing, it lacks that ending zero we usually associate with landmark ages and anniversaries. Additionally, while it's too far up to be considered truly young, it's also shy of what we generally consider middle-age, and nowhere near old.

Still, it's definitely something. When he died at the age of 33, Alexander the Great had conquered most of the ancient world, spreading the Greek language across three continents and seeding civilizations from Egypt to India with pockets of Hellenistic thought.

By the time of his death in 323 B.C., Alexander the Great had lain the foundations for what eventually would become modern Western civilization. In contrast, I'm the managing editor of two weekly newspapers and like to make fun of inspirational e-mail. Somehow, that just doesn't seem all that impressive by comparison.

Three years ago, when I turned 30, I made an ironic list of ways I would live m life differently if I were given the chance. Two of my favorite regrets were that I had tried to do something self-fulfilling rather than making millions of dollars, and that I had engaged immediately in trying to make the world a better place rather than saving such altruism for my retirement years.

Three years later, I'm still not very close to making it big. As any career journalist will admit, this is not a profession that pays especially well. The salary is hard to quantify, but it's somewhere between "diddly" and "squat." Nor do I see this as likely to change, since by my nature I don't seek jobs where the principal reward is pecuniary.

The truth is that I know what my future will bring. In the next 40 or 50 years, assuming I live that long, I'll probably enjoy moderate success as a writer. I'll write and publish a few books, possibly tour a little bit to promote them, and then I'll die. Within a few years, no one aside from family members and a few close friends will remember me.

I not only know that, I'm content with it. At the moment, the chief joys in my life are my wife, Natasha, and our two daughters, Evangeline and Rachel. They are more important to me than any career ever could, and the time I spend with them is more exciting than any news story, no matter how hard-hitting or exclusive it is.

Evangeline is almost 4, and the evenings I spend with her are the highlights of my work week. They're a nonstop whirlwind of playing hide-and-seek, holding ticklefests and all-around commotion before we settle down for a bowl of ice cream, stories and bedtime.

On weekends, whatever we can do together, we do. She has helped me to do everything from baking cookies, to turning compost and opening presents for Christmas.

Rachel is just shy of her 10-month mark. She lightens the load on my shoulders as soon as I come in the front door and she greets me with her wide, grinning toothlessness. One of the great joys of being a father is to watch her grow, as she slowly unfolds her language skills and takes her first, tottering steps into the world

History tells us that Alexander the Great built one of the greatest empires the world has ever known. Ruling the ancient world without descending into the barbarism other emperors were known for, he united the city-states of Greece before conquering Turkey and Phoenicia, subduing Egypt and building an empire that reached as far east as India.

That's impressive, but what we often forget is that when Alexander the Great died among the ziggurats of Babylon, it was after a night of carousing. He had conquered the entire world, and found it to be a desolate and empty thing because there were no challenges left. He died in despair.

In many ways, he's a great prototype for today's professional. Many men, including my own father, lament that they spent too much time at the office and missed the best years of their lives with their children. I hope one day to quip that I spent all my time with my family and missed the best days of my career.

That would be a good life.