But once my 30th birthday actually hit on midnight last week, I realized that it was just another day. Just like many of the tens of thousands of it before.
I stayed up watching highlights of the Rose Bowl and Orange Bowl (or for NIU fans, lowlights) with one of the cats next to me as I stared blankly at the boob tube. Once the hour and minute hit, I thought about it.
Cool...I'm 30. Then I went about my death stare as if it was just another birthday.
I know some people are age-obsessed and get caught up in the numbers of their life. To me, that's just the wrong way to live, unless of course you're obsessing about ages that get you certain privileges (like driving, buying alcohol, etc.).
If you are 40 years old and have the youthful spirit of a 20 year old, then I say you're 20. Don't obsess about some empty round numbers that should have no bearing on how you view yourself.
To me, being 30 does seem to add a pinch of maturity to my being. But if you are ever around me, you know my maturity level is that of a 15 year old. To prove my point, as I type this, I'm proudly wearing a t-shirt that says "Behold...Fartacus", one that I may or may not have worn two straight days.
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| This shirt, which I may have worn for two straight days, may be smelling like ...well....yeah. |
I plan on living my 31st year on Earth the same way I did the first 30 - laughing, watching sports, enjoying time with family and friends, joking about farts. And farting. Excuse my gas, but I believe I have to maintain a certain level of immaturity to keep myself young at heart.
I hope to enjoy this year, as I always do, with the people I love doing the things I love (you know who you are). In the meantime, let's make 2013 a year for the books.
