The calm before the 30th year...
I believe it fair to say that each of us recognizes certain birthdays as milestones in the journey that is our life. These milestones vary a little bit from person to person, and from male to female. As a male, I must bow to that particular perspective.
Growing up, I remember my 13th birthday, the day when I woke up and faced the world no longer as a child, but instead as a teenager. Realistically, this was a pretty silly moment, akin to those ego-driven periods with your parents when you demanded to be introduced by your half age ".....I'm 5 1/2 Dad, not 5...sheesh."
Next came my 16th year which was marked more by the angst of my mother than by any actual change in my persona. I am of course referring to my first vehicle, my cherished 1976 Datsun pick-up truck, affectionately known as the "Little Hustler". Freedom was the name of the game and I had just declared myself Grand Master. Little did I know that my mom had the ability to rewrite the rules of said game through the siphoning of gas money.
The next couple of milestones are the most obvious. My 18th birthday brought about my declaration of adulthood, and my 21st birthday brought about my declaration of debauchery. Granted, I did not drink to any great extent and I certainly didn't devolve into a mindless drunken slob, but, darn it, I was legally afforded that opportunity and I was proud.
Then of course there is my 25th birthday. This was a particularly anti-climatic event in which great anticipation was squashed by the reality that nothing really happens. As most guys know who pay their own car insurance, one's 25th birthday is supposed to be that magical moment in which the chains of oppression are lifted and the auto insurance industry finally recognizes that you can safety drive a car. In all reality, I believe the annual reduction of $5.18 I received was just enough for me to buy those socks I needed to keep my presumed lead foot warm in those cold Tennessee nights.
After year 25, milestones begin to appear in 10 year increments. 30, then 40, then 50, and so on. This brings me to the point of today's idle rant. On Monday, I will celebrate my 29th birthday. How should one react while dwelling in the abyss that is the deadzone between milestones? Should I celebrate the fact that I am not quite 30? Sure I cower under my bed fearing for the 365th day to come? Should I simply ignore it like I did numbers 26, 27, and 28? I am undecided at this point.
So far my instincts tell me to enjoy the fact that I am still in my 20's....enjoy the fact that I have made it this far without major catastrophe....enjoy the fact that I and my family are healthy....and above all, enjoy the fact that dinner will be comped. All in all, it has been a good 29 years. I don't seem to dread year 29 plus day one. Then again, I haven't had dinner yet.
Growing up, I remember my 13th birthday, the day when I woke up and faced the world no longer as a child, but instead as a teenager. Realistically, this was a pretty silly moment, akin to those ego-driven periods with your parents when you demanded to be introduced by your half age ".....I'm 5 1/2 Dad, not 5...sheesh."
Next came my 16th year which was marked more by the angst of my mother than by any actual change in my persona. I am of course referring to my first vehicle, my cherished 1976 Datsun pick-up truck, affectionately known as the "Little Hustler". Freedom was the name of the game and I had just declared myself Grand Master. Little did I know that my mom had the ability to rewrite the rules of said game through the siphoning of gas money.
The next couple of milestones are the most obvious. My 18th birthday brought about my declaration of adulthood, and my 21st birthday brought about my declaration of debauchery. Granted, I did not drink to any great extent and I certainly didn't devolve into a mindless drunken slob, but, darn it, I was legally afforded that opportunity and I was proud.
Then of course there is my 25th birthday. This was a particularly anti-climatic event in which great anticipation was squashed by the reality that nothing really happens. As most guys know who pay their own car insurance, one's 25th birthday is supposed to be that magical moment in which the chains of oppression are lifted and the auto insurance industry finally recognizes that you can safety drive a car. In all reality, I believe the annual reduction of $5.18 I received was just enough for me to buy those socks I needed to keep my presumed lead foot warm in those cold Tennessee nights.
After year 25, milestones begin to appear in 10 year increments. 30, then 40, then 50, and so on. This brings me to the point of today's idle rant. On Monday, I will celebrate my 29th birthday. How should one react while dwelling in the abyss that is the deadzone between milestones? Should I celebrate the fact that I am not quite 30? Sure I cower under my bed fearing for the 365th day to come? Should I simply ignore it like I did numbers 26, 27, and 28? I am undecided at this point.
So far my instincts tell me to enjoy the fact that I am still in my 20's....enjoy the fact that I have made it this far without major catastrophe....enjoy the fact that I and my family are healthy....and above all, enjoy the fact that dinner will be comped. All in all, it has been a good 29 years. I don't seem to dread year 29 plus day one. Then again, I haven't had dinner yet.
posted by Ben from TN @ 6/09/2005 04:37:00 PM
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