Tonight there will be a birthday party. It will be as any college birthday party. Cake will come in beer form, Lil' Wayne will be played, and half the guests will have fun while the others attempt to look cool. I'm not sure if they will succeed in looking cool. After all, nonchalance is the new black. Everyone looks good in it.
It is a big night for me. I'm not expecting to get laid, paid, or spayed, but it's an epic night nonetheless. By having a party I hereby accept the fact that I will be twenty-two in the blink of an eye.
When I was young and truly, resolutely Catholic, I learned about Magic Numbers. According to the Bible certain numbers hold a bit of mysticism within their meanings. School Teachers told me 3, 7, 10, and 40, were of the utmost importance to my burgeoning religion.
I wasn't a good Catholic. I had my own ideas. Since I was able to grasp the concept of numbers and age, I've always looked at 22 as the most magical of ages. This, not 18, not 21, was when one became an adult. How did I figure this? Because that's when most basketball players started playing in the NBA (sorry for the reference everyone). As my childhood dream was to play in the NBA, I blindly assumed 22 would be the start of my adulthood.
Dreams came and went. Director, Comedian, Writer. These dreams are still coming and going at four month rotations of ambition. Though dreams change, and boy do they dunking a basketball couldn't be farther away from making people laugh unless one murdered by way of the slam dunk. Through slight changes and edits to my own person, 22 has stayed in place as my idea of adulthood. This is the cusp of the rest of my life. I don't necessarily need to work or strive towards any specific ideal but I've always accepted this as the age where the rest of my experience becomes relegated to mere prologue.
I realize this is a profoundly stupid and short-cited notion, but I can't control how I think about certain things. Tigers will always be a baseball team. Ravioli will always be a reward for practicing the flute as an eight-year-old. 22 will always be the beginning.
I don't want to be 22.
I can hearken back to childish fears and trepidation, but that would be a blow off. I'm not afraid of growing up. The reason I'm 22 is that I want to be 21 forever. This is not a plea for youth or sustainment of transitional indiscretions. I want to be 21 forever because 21 is going to be a hard year to beat.
21 is the year Alcohol becomes legal for intake. In my case, 21 was when I became comfortable with myself and all that came with it. Life came into perspective, and for the first time the world seemed like such a beautiful place to live in. What a gift! Eating, sleeping, screwing, everything seemed like such a monumental gift from the Universe. To be a creature on this planet is to dine on a cornucopia of enjoyments. Pleasure is hidden in every required task of existence. It feels so good to be human. To run, to smile, to talk.
And oh the talks!
The past year consisted of fascination with sports, silliness, children, girls, & literature, but the aspect in which I was most blessed (perhaps more than anyone in the world) was my friendships.
You don't need a friend to get up in the morning, but you sure as hell need one to enjoy the year. In more awkward years I'd look at others interact with their friends and feel jealous of the bonds they held.
I'll never feel that way again.
The people immediately surrounding me--you know who you are-- have indulged my attempts at humor, given me their world views, and made everyday an adventure. For the past 361 days, I was the luckiest person in the world to have you guys. When I needed to be held up, you did the job. When you needed the same, I hope I was up to the task.
Such is my love for my current clique and surroundings that I may overstay my welcome. I don't want to suck the life out of anything. Let's keep smiling, keep learning, and keep seeing each other for the first time.
Thanks to you guys I've had an amazing year. Here's to another one. Let's throw footballs, go on missions, be camp counselors, dance our asses of, congregate around Jeff's altar, and eat delicious food.
It's a wonderful life, thanks for making it so.
When I think of my 21st year, no memories will stand out. This is not the result of being too blackout, but the by-product of having too much to choose from. A collage of laughter, games, endeavors, and smiling faces.
This year has held a lifetime's worth of sweet sweet memories. So good we'll all get cavities.
*****
I meant this to be a forlorn and lonely post. I typed a weird and rambling intro before realizing that any portrayal of my life in anything but the happiest of lights would be an out and out lie.
I love the world. I love you.
-Joel
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