Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Today I am 24, which is neither here nor there. Honestly, I feel more nonchalant about today than I've ever felt about any birthday in my life. I am no longer heartbroken (at least not as heartbroken as I used to be) that my grown up birthdays aren't quite as incredible as the birthdays I had as child. (It seems like every year of my childhood was two long countdowns: one to my birthday, the other to Christmas.) I know today there will be no balloons, no toys. And toys wouldn't be any use to me, anyway, which, though obvious, is still kind of sad in a way. Such is the passing of time.
24 seems like an awfully intimidating number--I am slowly but surely reaching the other side of my twenties, the side that is closer to thirty than to twenty--but of course I realize how silly I must sound. Logically, I know 24 is not old. Yet 24 is still the oldest I have ever been in my entire life.
Though I am young, I feel as if I should be more established, more settled. I feel as if should wake up at the same time every morning and follow a regular exercise routine, as if I shouldn't own more than one tutu in my size. I should have a dining room table with six chairs, a real job in a cubicle, a subscription to Good Housekeeping, and a purse filled anything you would ever need in an emergency (hand sanitizer, band aids, inflatable life vests).
In some ways I feel I have grown up so quickly, but in other ways I feel I have not grown up at all.
I still have messy hair, and I still wear big, nerdy glasses and mismatched socks. I still make really stupid jokes and sing and hum all day long. I still sit on the edge of my seat during Toy Story 2, and I still want to be a ballerina when I grow up.
I'm also still waiting for Peter Pan to come to my window.
It's been said that the more things seem to change, the more they remain the same. "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose."
Another birthday. Another day. Time keeps moving right along. Today, I am 24, but that is the only difference.