So I turned 25 today. I would say that I feel old (because let’s face it, I often feel like I’m a misplaced 40-something), but that’s all a matter of perspective, really. It’s old to me because it’s the farthest point in life I’ve reached; it’s still relatively young to a baby boomer because baby boomers have gone much farther. One thing is for certain: your age won’t tell you what percent of your life you’ve lived – and have left to live – because there is no way of knowing that. I could go on to be 80 or I could drop dead tomorrow. 25 is meaningless as an indicator of mortality. It also isn’t really much to celebrate. Achievements should be celebrated; not the mere passage of time. Is the passage of time (staying alive this long) in itself an achievement? Well, look at it this way: we (or, I’m guessing, most of us) don’t pat each other on the backs for every day we’ve managed to stay out of jail.
That all said, I’m still going to see Slumdog Millionaire later and will be eating ice cream in 25-degree weather because that’s how I roll ;p