I know today’s blog is supposed to have a farming theme, but I’ve got more important stuff to get off my chest.
For the first time in my life I’m nervous about my birthday tomorrow. Twenty-two seemed irrelevant when it hit because I was already 21 and nothing else mattered- except that I was appreciative to be out of the 21-club. When you’re a teenager, 21 is so incandescent and you can’t wait to get there- it’s not until you actually make it to 21 that you realize how immature of an age it really is. It’s like you get your bar-pass and automatically have a reason to go out and be completely carefree. Pretty sure I may or may not have even used the term “YOLO.” Thank God that term can also mean you’re only 21 once…
Then you look forward to 22 so you’re no longer grouped with the rowdy and juvenile 21-ers. I welcomed the 22 birthday candles with open arms knowing that I was now a ripened “of-ager.” And now 23 looms…
When I was a kid I always assumed that I would get married when I was 23. It wasn’t that it sounded “old” per say, but it was definitely getting up there. It was beyond college and as far as I could see, it was when I would be the perfect age for marriage. (Luckily I have found someone that I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life with, making this epiphany more bearable…otherwise I might be crying in my keyboard right now.) As if somehow I saw 23 as the magic number to be an official grown up.
I somehow feel like I put a cap on my youth at 23 during my childhood. And tomorrow will mark the day that it’s officially over. In my mind I will have forever lost my child-card and will no longer be able to visit the fountain of youth. So in true form, when asked what I wanted most for my birthday, I wished for new tires on my bicycle and a swing. And I’m getting them both. Ha! Take that adulthood!
Thankfully, I have found that they do no ask for an age when ordering a Happy Meal. The fountain of youth can be found in Olay Regenerist facial lotion. And Jager bombs. You can wear outrageous (not skanky) clothing without being questioned as long as you call it “high fashion.” And you can climb trees as long as you call it “exercise.”
I know that my youth isn’t actually being taken from me. I am just having a hard time realizing that my childhood self was wrong. And that’s another thing I have a hard time admitting…
Instead of singing Taylor Swift’s song “22” and being so exciting about being 22, I guess the actual lyrics “I’m feeling 22…” will be more true in that I’ll actually only feel 22. But Taylor beat me to the 23 club three months ago so I don’t feel so bad. It’s also an extra bummer when my last 4 birthday’s fell on Spring Break…this one fell on a Tuesday. Which, to a grown person translates to: a regular ole work day.
While sitting at my desk today, on another regular ole work day, a huge storm blew in and hail started to fall in buckets. I got a little afraid that God heard me say that I didn’t want to be 23 and took me seriously…so I had to retract that statement completely. Now I am just anxious about it.
I guess I’ll get there when I get there. Tomorrow. Or in 7 hours and 37 minutes to be exact. Working on changing my attitude in the meantime…
TWENTY-THREE HERE I COME! YOU BETTER GET READY FOR ME BECAUSE YOU AND I ARE GOING TO BE NOTHING LIKE I HAD PLANNED! HELL’S COMING AND HER YOUTH IS COMING WITH HER!
How was that?
Love always,
Addie
“Never regret getting older. It’s a blessing denied to many.” -Unknown
Breaking out of the Bootheel 