Twenty Six

So I didn’t update on Tuesday.  If you were disappointed, sorry about that.  I really should’ve had something written in advance, or at least put up a warning that there would be no update.  I shan’t do it again.

It was my birthday on Tuesday.  26 years old.  I was always the baby, the youngest in my family, among the youngest in my year at school.  Somewhere along the way, this changed.  I fell in with a younger crowd.  Not significantly younger, but for the first time I was the oldest.  It was a bizarre experience.  I don’t think I dealt with it particularly well.

This isn’t really going anywhere.  I’m in a pensive mood.  I just keep thinking about all those platitudes people trot out at times like this, about how you’re still young, how age is only a number and that you’re only as old as you feel.  There’s some truth in those, I think, but not as much as I’d like.  My brother (five years my senior) sent me an honest e-mail about getting to the other side of your 20s, and it’s all I’ve got to go on as far as useful advice is concerned.

I don’t know; I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting older.  Age is a number, and it can be misinterpreted, but it’s also a symbol of your experience.  It’s not as simple as age = wisdom, but the longer you spend doing something, the more you can take a step back and be thoughtful about it.  Living is no different.

I know I’m supposed to be depressed at a time like this, but I think I’d rather be 26 than 21.  Like Eugene Hutz once said, “I never want to be young again.”

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