Getting Older

I think I’ve finally come to the conclusion that birthdays do get more depressing as I get older. Every year my goal is just to have a good day doing things I enjoy, nothing crazy. I think for the past couple years now, this vague feeling has been creeping in that I don’t know how to describe.

Growing up, my mom always made birthdays special;  they were all about celebrating and doing exactly what you want to do. Eating your favorite food, doing something fun, hanging out with your favorite people…which is similar to what I do now. I don’t have grand expectations, but somehow I’ve found myself feeling a little disappointed on recent birthdays.

On one hand, I’ve always liked getting older. I never liked being thought of as a little kid or a “teenybopper” or anything else that meant I was immature and naive. Now that I’m in my 20s, I realize that’s probably never going to go away because there are always going to be older people telling me they have infinitely more knowledge than I do. But still. I think every year of my life has been better than the previous one, and I would never want to go back to an earlier time. I feel like I’ve accomplished some good things so far, and still have plenty of things I want to do, but generally don’t feel like I’m running out of time or should be on some schedule, even if everyone I know seems to be getting married or popping out babies.

On the other hand, I probably have to come to terms with every other adult’s view of birthdays, which seems to be that it’s just another day and you’re just another year older. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. Okay, that’s depressing.

Anyway, tomorrow’s my 25th birthday. I’m still not sure what this feeling is about or how to get over it, because I feel good about where I’m at in life. But, like a room with one crooked frame on the wall, there’s something a little off here.

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