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There’s a special kind of crazy required to don a costume when it isn’t Halloween. It’s the sort of crazy of which this world needs more. Whether you’re generally a dramatic personality, have a theatrical inclination, or just enjoy acting silly, it takes that extra bit of gumption to take your act public. So when such folks conspire to meet and party together, there’s a certain magic about it.

This past weekend, I attended PirateCon, a gathering of folks who choose to celebrate “International Talk Like a Pirate Day” by dressing as said swashbucklers. We were organized by an unknown party and proceeded to make our party known throughout much of lower Manhattan. If I had to guess, there were something like two hundred participants; Wonderful, creative people who were determined to have fun in the carefree tradition of legendary buccaneers.

I was lucky enough to arrive in time to watch the group grow from a handful of enthusiastic but skittish members, to a mass of energetic pirate party people. Our crew marched from one location to the next, amusing tourists and New Yorkers alike with our blatant disregard for the mundane. We cheered and sang and chanted along the way. Pirate colors brightened the bustling crowds at The High Line, Washington Square Park, and the South Street Seaport.

Everyone was friendly and kind to each other, though most were meeting for the first time. As an example, someone found my digital camera and returned it to me after seeing my photos on it. We pirates shared drinks, stories, snacks, and laughs together.

My best friend and I had arrived by boat in true pirate fashion, and left the same way. In between those two boat trips, we got to participate in a truly amazing event. Not for its turnout, or the amount of alcohol consumed; It was amazing for what it represents in us, as people.

As silly as it may be for grown people to pretend they are pirates. It’s even sillier for us to forget about such things as dressing up, pretending, and keeping our minds open to imaginative play. The British, who tend to use the English language more elegantly than we Americans, don’t call what we were wearing “costumes.” In England, people attend “fancy dress” parties. This doesn’t imply that the behavior is strange or abnormal, but simply that a bit more care has gone into deciding what will be worn. The extraordinary clothing allows us to more freely behave in a way that may be outside of our everyday persona.

It amused me when bystanders on the street asked, “Why are you dressed that way?” The implication behind that question was that there must be a good explanation for why a large group of people have decided to shun conventional attire and take to the streets as a band of pirates. The natural reply of course, was to ask them why they were dressed as they had been. In my perfect world explanations for such things would never be needed. When in doubt, everyone should just assume that the answer to such questions would be, “Because we can, and it’s fun.”

Now that midnight has come and gone, May the third is officially upon us here on the East Coast of these United States. What does this mean to you? Probably very little. That is unless you are Count Hartmann II, in which case you’d be long dead, but your descendants might still be celebrating the anniversary of the day you becomes ruler of Liechtenstein. Of course there were a lot of milestones on this day in history for the US as well. Back in 1802, Washington D.C. officially became a city. May 3rd of 1936, was a big deal for New York Yankee Joe DiMaggio who made his major-league debut exactly 73 years ago today. The “Events in History” page tells me that there was lots of killing on May 3rd; countless famous battles and a handful of atrocities. So there’s something to be said for the fact that, currently, I am at peace.

I was born thirty eight years ago. I moved from country to country, then city to city, then neighborhood to neighborhood and now across state lines. I’ve lived through back-woods dangers, being mugged at gunpoint, food poisoning, sky diving, stunt driving, ninja training, brushes with the mob and the law. I’ve buried my dad and my grandfather. I’ve fathered a son and aborted a mistake. I’ve created music and videos and dabbled in magic. I fixed machines and broke hearts. I’ve given and taken so much, many times without permission.

Now, with my prime long behind me, I find myself content. I’m approaching 40 and satisfied. There’s never been a want in my life which has gone unfulfilled. To this very day, my boundaries are never fixed and I feel safe in continuing pushing against them. I feel as though the chaos which swirls around me will always have that calm center from which I can get the best view of the action.

So I may not have a birthday cake or a party to tell me I’ve gotten just a bit older, but that’s okay. I feel the time pass every day when I pause to appreciate all that I have. Who needs a calender to track the time when the good memories pile up all around you?

As a kid, birthdays were an anxiously anticipated time every year where I expected to be the center of attention. I liked that feeling so much that I managed to do a number of things to garner that kind of attention far more frequently. Then, there was a time when I didn’t care if I ever had another birthday because I thought life had shown me all there was to see. Now that i know better, I look forward to another thirty eight years of experiences.

Happy Birthday to me!