We Ain't That Young Anymore

Today I turn the rather formidable age of 25.

For a quarter of a century I have tread this Earth. This concept, in and of itself, is a sign of obvious good fortune. We may perhaps call it a miracle.

After all, my continued existence is proof that God indeed takes care of fools and drunks. This double coverage has seen me through 25 years, and with a little providence I may yet get to travel through another 25.

Those older than me will look at this post and scoff. They would, of course, kill to be 25 again. My complaining about how old I'm getting is absurd to them, at best. At worst, it's somewhat insulting.

To this I say, forgive me. We only turn 25 once, and today it is my turn.

The ponderousness of the number owes a great debt to its status as a milestone. Whereas the woods behind me are littered with markers -- 6, 13, 16, 21 come immediately to mind, complementing the round numbers -- beyond here lies nothing. After 25, it is a slow slog through 30, 35, and the unmentionable numbers farther ahead.

Forgive me if I'm rambling. I'm just starting to realize that, at some point, everyone must stop being young and stupid. With every tick of the clock, that moment creeps closer. Turning 25 is a stark reminder that the moment is closer than ever. God forbid that I'm past it.

But you know what? Screw it.

I always said that I'd be dragged into adulthood kicking and screaming, and by God I will keep that promise.

Some day, perhaps not too far off, I will be forced to stop. By what? Who knows. Perhaps it will be the necessities of a job, the failings of my body, a court order, or the tears of my wife. Some day I will swallow the pill, grit my teeth, and stop.

But that is not this day.

I'm not done and the story ain't over. We get to be young once and we might as well use that window before it closes. Because if not now, then when? I might make some mistakes and occasionally wake up in another state, but you know what? Every man should have some stories to tell. And the older you get, the less likely a judge is to forgive you.

So I'm going to have some fun while I can and I suggest you join me.

And if you don't?

Well, perhaps tomorrow, then. And, as always, avenge me.