Hitting the Mid-Twenties Stride

Days till Surgery: 21
Days till Old Age: 29

Today is a very exciting day! I'd like to say: HAPPY 24th BIRTHDAY JEN! I love you more than life itself, and I'm so glad that you're proving to me that turning ancient doesn't mean you drop dead immediately. I can't wait to celebrate as soon as I get my ass back up to Boston!

Now, I have friends who run the age gambit; you name it, I'm friends with them, from teenagers (shut up) to people in their thirties. I enjoy having a wide array of friends, because it really offers a wide perspective on life (and it doesn't hurt that your older friends can tell you to stop being a fucking idiot when you're freaking out about things that seem important at the time.)

But now, with one of my best friends' in the world turning 24, and with my 23rd birthday less than a month away (a month from yesterday, to be exact) I'm finally realizing that the majority of my friends are finally getting into their mid-twenties - most of us are now between the ages of 22 and 25, and we're finally all getting out of school and figuring out just how we're going to pay off our debt when we majored in things like "English" and "History" and "Boozing."

Alcoholism 101 - fills up every semester

I remember very clearly being 14 years old and in the 8th grade, and worrying obsessively about high school. The school was so big, the kids were so old, we were going to be at the bottom of the pecking order after working out way up through 5 damn years of middle school (thank you, Hull Public Schools, and your constant rearranging of where our students were.) Freshman year of high school seemed like such a momentous time; I was an adult. I was that student in all the tv shows we loved to watch. I was just as mature as Buffy, for crying out loud. Just without the mini skirts and hooker boots - I saved that for the 10th grade.

There were so many age milestones that I salivated over - Sweet 16, the Big 1-8, turning 20 and finally ending my teenage years, and the amazing, alcohol-and-bar-legal 21. I waited with bated breath for each of those years, wanting desperately to be that old so I could finally partake in rituals like driving, voting, and drinking myself into a drunken stupor so that I could be carried out of a club, declaring to anyone who would listen that this time I was legal, damnit!

And then there was 22. I dreaded turning 22 - dreaded it. I had nightmares about it, I was in denial about it, I made everyone around me agree that April 9, 2007 was my 21st and a Year Birthday Celebration. Fuck 22. I actually turned 22 on an Amtrak train heading back up to Boston, and nearly killed the person beside me, just to work out some of my anger. Sorry, Japanese tourist, but you were right there.

But this year... well, I've bitched a lot about turning 23. A lot. But I'm almost okay with it. Sure, 22 seemed like the beginning of the end, but I'm kind of liking my early twenties, even if I am slowly but surely making my way to the murky, uncertain time of my mid-twenties. I feel... well, I feel older. More mature. (In a way, seeing as it's me and all.) People seem to take me a little more seriously, and I like that. And I do like responsibilities, to a degree. I like having my own place and paying rent; I like having a job, and getting my ass up and out of bed every morning; I like having money and being able to enjoy myself. And I like feeling like I'm out of the drama-filled world of college. As much fun as it was being in a sorority and dealing with crazy girls all the time, thank god it's over. Sure, some people never, ever outgrow it (and that terrifies me - seriously, people, get over it) but I did, and I feel... I don't know. Relieved. Happy. Serene.

This was so three months ago

Problem is, I do feel old. Like I'm on a one-way path, and I ain't gettin' any younger. Which... well, is true. I'm getting freaking old. But at least there's still my whole life ahead of me, and I finally feel like my head is (mostly) on straight. Many adventures are still to be had. And, after all, people are acting younger and younger every day. 40 is the new 20; 60 is the new 40. And since I plan on being cryogenically frozen, maybe - just maybe - 120 will be the new 20 for me.