25 years is a long time. That’s a quarter of a century. In case anyone forgot, a century is 100 years. It’s very possible that I’m just looking at this from a particularly infantile point of view, but damn, 25 years is a long time. When I take a look back at the things that have changed, it’s fairly mind-boggling. It’s awe-inspiring, frustrating, saddening, elating, and humbling all at the same time. I guess my big perk of turning 25 is being able to rent a car. I guess that’s something.
I like to celebrate a little on my birthday, but I don’t tend to make a spectacular deal out of it. I spend a lot of the day just doing my normal routine, which of course entails a lot of overthinking. There are always a few moments of melancholy when I think about the people who I’ve lost, some by way of just losing contact, and some by way of death. When I think about the friends who haven’t made it to 25, it makes me think long and hard about my life. Is what I’ve done with my 25 years anything of note? I know plenty of people who have done much more with the time that they have, and I know plenty who have done less. Every year on my birthday I try to catalog my life, and every year I get older, the harder I find to sum it up. I know that life isn’t just a summation of noteworthy events, but it is a continuum of experience and relationships.
So, as someone with 25 years of life under his belt, I’m thankful for being here for a quarter of a century, being able to witness countless moments, which has spanned the whole spectrum of human emotion for me. I’m thankful for all of my friends who put up with me, my family who supports me, and the very blurry line in my head which separates the two. Before I make this any more melodramatic than it already is, thank you all, for everything.
Happy Birthday to Me.