In 12 days, I turn 27.
I tend to have an issue going from ages that end in 6 to ages that end in 7. It seems like such a huge change.
I mean, from age 6 to age 7, you go from kindergarten to first grade. Huge.
From 16 to 17, you go from carefree and fun-loving to starting to worry about college, and where you’ll go, and what you want to do with your life. HUGER.
And now, I’ll go from 26 to 27. 26. My “mid-twenties”. I’ll go into my waning late-twenties. 27. Three years from 30. 27.
7 even looks like a more mature number than 6. 6 is like a little chubby kid, round and lopped over and standing steady on a wide base. 7 is like the cooler older sister that 6 tries to be–tall, slim, standing high in stilettos.
But with that tall, slim figure and heightened view come bigger responsibilities: being a grown-up, fighting with your own insurance company (highlight of my day, lemme tell ya), picking your battles, battling your biological clock, money. And that, my friends, is the HUGEST.
Mike told me last night that people are happiest at the age of 33. I believe it. You’re far away from 6’s and 7’s, you’ve probably got some routine to your life, people that you’re happy with, maybe even some nuggets.
But for now, I’m fighting 7–enjoying my last 12 days as a chubby kid who hasn’t yet had the realization that there’s no going back to childhood at this point–that each year now is just another year closer to more responsibility…and I hope some pleasant surprises.