March 14; or 3/14. AKA “Pi Day” to geeks around the world. We geeks are somewhat irrational.
Pi is an irrational number, which means it cannot be represented as a ratio of any two integers, although 22/7 comes pretty close. This comes in handy in some calculations, especially when there is a 7 to cancel out. As written almost everywhere but the US, 22/7, or July 22, would be another good candidate for Pi Day. An even better approximation is 355/113 … which isn’t really very useful. And it’s nothing like a date.
Speaking of dates.
March 14 marks a sort of anniversary for me. It was way back in 1981. A Sunday morning. 
I awoke resolved to make a change. My career was zooming. My life was changing: I could now read. My horizons were widening.
And yet — at 24-1/2 — I knew that I was not quite yet the person I would turn out to be. Not the person I could be; not one who could make my momma proud. I knew that I wanted to have a long marriage — the whole enchilada: kids, house, grow old together, make each other coffee and walk on the beach together at 75 years old. Yet that was nowhere near happening; even though I had been dating. I was not yet that kind of person.
Just as a High School athlete with promise decides to be a professional ball player, I knew that simply making the decision to change — to be THAT person — was not enough. I thought it would be a few weeks; it would take some time and effort. Turns out it took more than a few weeks. And it certainly wasn’t a “piece of pie.”
I moved out of my apartment. I ended some relationships — that was awkward. I sought new relationships — that was exciting. I got involved in the community. I consciously tried to be a better person. And hopefully a potential candidate as the lifelong soulmate for someone special.
I made some mistakes along the way. I confess to still making mistakes. I went far up one blind alley — although meeting some interesting and even inspirational people while blindly wandering that alley. But the decision was made. All who wander are not lost. Stay the course, Joe.
Fifty-one weeks (357 days to be exact) after that Sunday morning the woman who would be the love of my life showed up. It was awkward and I was not quite ready, but she was willing to be patient.
The excitement of those few years of growth, from being an illiterate, hopelessly stammering underachiever to aerospace rockstar with a rockstar for a mate, still blows my mind. I wish I could bottle up that experience and figure out the key triggers … and give it away to every young person. Alas, life doesn’t work that way. We all have our own paths, our own stories and our own memories.
That’s my irrational autobiographical blurb for now.
Joe Girard © 2018
 My friend Gil pointed out that Mach 14, 1981 was a Saturday. So — my memory isn’t perfect. It was definitely a Sunday. So it was really March 15. I went to bed on 3/14 thinking those thoughts, and awoke on 3/15 convinced. A chrysalis event!