Birthdays are exciting at the beginning and end of your life - everything in between is monotonous and easy to forget. When you're young, every year seems like a momentous step, like you are making progress. When you get older everyone celebrates your birthday because it's a feat that you're still around - the parties get better because you managed to evade death for another year.
The middle is just a blur. (Exception: Every decade birthday)
For me, twenty three is when I begin to forget the ages of my siblings and friends. I don't know how many times people have asked me how old my siblings are and I make up an answer. I think my sister Rebekah has been twenty five for the past two or so years.
So yesterday marked my last exciting birthday for the next few decades: twenty one. It's exciting solely for the legal implications for Americans: the age to consume alcohol legally and to gamble. Ironically, all those reasons that make this birthday so brilliant do not apply to me. However, twenty one does mark the fulfillment of a goal of mine: making it to my twenty first birthday without a wedding ring on my finger.
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