Old(er)

Growing up, I remember lying in bed the night before my birthday, unable to sleep from the excitement and anticipation building up on the inside. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think about boring things that usually made me doze off, but this one night of the year, I could not for the life of me fall asleep. I did not even have that much trouble on Christmas eve compared to the night before my birthday. I just wanted it to be here...so so much.

Somehow, I managed to finally let Mr. Sandman work his magic, and my birthday came. No matter how little sleep I got the night before, this was the one morning of the year that I could bounce out of bed at 6:30 or 7:00 in the morning with no problem. I was ready to enjoy my birthday.

My 4th birthday

As I grew older, I started counting down to my birthday. When I say count down, I do not mean ten days before or three weeks before. I am talking months before. September 1st rolled around and BAM. Halfway mark. Six months and counting. I had to be one of the most annoying people obsessed about her birthday, yet my friends and family accepted my enthusiasm as a part of who I was.

After my birthday treat at school, dinner with my family, checking the mailbox for cards from relatives and opening my presents, I got ready for bed and was filled with a sinking feeling. Today was over. It was over. I had a whole year ahead of me now with no special day belonging to me. The rest of the year just felt so...ordinary.

My 17th birthday

This year, I was feeling a sort of trepidation. I did not want to move forward another year. I had the sinking feeling already, and my birthday had not even happened. 23 just felt old(er). I still wanted to be the four-year-old who got Pretty Pretty Princess and a big girl bike for her birthday, the seventeen-year-old who had the most memorable birthday party ever. But 23? What is special about that? That is halfway between 20 and 25. It's the peak of the mini rollercoaster in my 20s. I just wanted to put the brakes on and stop 22 from leaving me.

Today, I thought about being 23, and all of a sudden, it was cool to me. I could almost picture 23 being this very sophisticated age and making 22 seem very young and carefree. Of course, I wish I could be young and carefree forever, but if I can't, I would love it even more to be sophisticated and grown up. And that is what 23 has come to mean to me. Grown up. An adult. 23 is the first year for me since I was five that will have no form of schooling in it. It is the peak between 20 and 25, but as I see it, I just keep getting more sophisticated from here on out, as my age increases. As Payton, who is five put it, I am going to be a "lady soon when I keep getting older."

Cake my BFF, Kate, made on my 21st birthday

So now, 23 is no longer the big bad age that makes me want to hide under the covers until March 2. It is the "perfect" age; perfect in the sense that I am going to make the most of each day spent in 23, and not one of them will be ordinary. Because I am no ordinary person with a ho-hum life. I aim to make 23 my best year yet, full of adventure and excitement. The bar has been set high by 22 with graduating from college AND going to Europe, but I think 23 will surpass even that.

Hello, 23. :)