My 23rd birthday went as quickly as it came, and in its aftermath was a wretched hangover and a tinge of regret. Approaching your 23rd year is like trudging through no man's land of your twenties. A meaningless age that has minimal pay out. I'm two years into drinking legally, two years out from legally renting a car in Ireland-- I'm just crawling like a baby through what was once a decidedly adult decade.
In many ways I feel like an adult. I'm working full time. I'm living on my own and paying rent. I have a balance in my savings account that any 23-year-old would boast about. But, as I look to other friends my age, or even those who have a few years on me (with the exception of a few rush-to-get-married twenty-somethings), there isn't a hint of an adult mentality between the lot of 'em. Our twenties have become the playground to live out the dreams of our youth. With a little bit of cash in the hand, we can do and buy some of the things we've always wanted to do. So, this year I vow to to make the most of this adult-less adulthood that society has deemed acceptable and I'll do it gladly.
