On Wednesday, I turn 25.
It’s one of those big numbers that brings little added privilege (although, hey, my car insurance premiums went down) and instead douses you in terrible comments from near-strangers on your biological clock and other ridiculous things.
I will venture to say it’s fairly normal to compare yourself to other folks your age — you have a house? I don’t have a house. You’re engaged? I’m not engaged. You have a baby? I’m real, real far from having a baby. Sometimes, comparisons go the other way. I’m living on my own, paying my bills, tucking away some savings and generally enjoying my day-to-day excursions.
A quarter-life crisis? No thanks. I’m celebrating a quarter-century of dreams.
On Monday, I saw a re-tweet of a tweet of an Instagram of a Bruce Lee quote (welcome to 2013, folks) that reads “I’m not in this world to live up to your expectations and you’re not in this world to live up to mine.”
Amen, Bruce Lee.
What is it about “big” birthdays — 25, 30, 40, 50 — that push us to stress and worry about things we haven’t accomplished yet?
I’d rather have a few beers at Holy Hound, indulge in a pizza from Stadium Grille and hang out with good friends. Because if the next 25 years are as good as the last 25, I’m willing to go along for the ride.