There was one day last year where my Mom and I were talking over breakfast when she asked me, “How old are you on your next birthday?”
“Twenty-seven,” I answered.
There was a moment of silence, and we exchanged looks. Then my mom said, “You’re old.”
All I could do was make a face.
But now that I think about it…why does being 27 feel like it’s so much older than being 26? Is it because it’s closer to 30? Am I reaching that age where I am going to stop counting and when people ask me how old I am, I’ll start getting offended about the question?1 Will I hate celebrating birthdays after this?2
I can’t shake that sense of aging whenever I think of my upcoming birthday, but I’m trying not to think about it. It’s not really depressing — it’s more surprising, really, and I feel like I should get my act together when I turn 27. Not that I should have things figured out, but perhaps I should…I don’t know, start moving with more purpose, or something?
But I will not really dwell on that yet, because these kinds of things thought in the wrong time is the perfect recipe for another crisis. So let’s not go there. I’d rather keep with traditions today, and post my 27th Birthday Wish List!3