If you made it to 30, then congrats! Neither of us thought you would make it. It seems you have kept up your habit of surprising people, especially yourself. I hope my dreams are not merely an overflow of cached data, but stepping stones that frame your backyard.

I hope that when you meet a stranger, your mind still holds as many doubts as you can count; your intuition holds enough uncertainty to spare; you smile with your heart, not your head; your doors remain open to the ones fed by the same hands; and your eyes tell enough lies to fool the weak, but not yourself.

I hope your nights are spent not counting the stars in the night sky, but the sheep that sing your kids to sleep. I hope you are happy alive and sane.

If you are reading this through the lens of a machine, then I am afraid we have truly lost the game. Our game has restarted, and you are back at your initial checkpoint, where you exist as a bit. You can befriend a programmer and count their errors or you can join the perceptrons in leading our world to its first last downfall.