It’s my birthday and I’ll blog if I want to…
So it begins. My last year in the age of twenty. Countless friends have already crossed into the realm of the thirties, including, two days from now, my best friend. More a brother than a friend. We were always the same age for two precious days. It made for some difficult birthday party arrangements. In two days he shall turn 30 while I remain blissfully young at 29.
Thus it is my last year as a twenty-something. Thus I must question what I am dong to further my generation. The age of thirty seems to be a significant one, at least for the male of the species. After 30 is the age of settling down, of solidifying a career. A house with a wife, picket fence and 2.3 children. At this time I am nowhere near achieving any of that tripe.
Do I want it? This picture of the American dream? Well, for one thing I don’t live in America currently. So it might be a little hard to convince the locals of the ideals embodied by said American dream. Two chickens in every pot seems a little presumptuous when that pot is better used for rice, and two cars in every garage is outrageous in a city with excellent public transportation. So excellent in fact that many residents never bother to learn how to drive in the first place.
But I digress. I have gathered none of the markers that you might believe that a thirty year old should have. Why? I don’t know. To be honest it hasn’t been for a lack of trying. Perhaps I prefer too much to live vicariously through my friends that have happy “normal” lives.
Perhaps I am too broken?
Whatever the case, I feel an incredible desire to better myself in this coming year so that I may meet the decade of thirty with open arms and fewer regrets. There are pieces in place that could provide a clue to the mosaic that is my destiny, but at this moment the markings are unclear. Perhaps they will fit into the crucially empty space in my heart or perhaps they will not. If so, this final year of my third decade will be one full of pleasure and joy.
If not, well…eventually, somewhere that piece will be found. Perhaps it will be here, perhaps not.
Perhaps I will stop being such a moody pretentious writer type.
I doubt it.