Today I am celebrating my 20th birthday. I have lived for 175,200 hours, 7,300 days, 240 months, and two decades. My teenage years are coming to a close and the reality of “aging” is setting in. I think I might even have my first wrinkle. It’s a pretty groundbreaking moment when you realize that you consider yourself to be old.
More important than the numbers and my need for eye cream however is the fact that it will be my first birthday celebrated without my family. This winter, I am in Washington D.C., fulfilling some credits and (hopefully) making some connections in the field I desire to one day work in. My mom won’t wake me up with a song or a freshly baked muffin. I won’t get to choose my favorite entrée for dinner or blow out any candles. Instead, I’ll get phone calls, a package that is scheduled for delivery some time between 4 and 7 pm, a poorly worded early morning text message from my father.
The cake I make for myself every birthday.
This feeling of distance is part of growing up. We are all destined to find ourselves in foreign territory at some point. The most successful people in the world don’t remain homebodies. They seek to see the world, to absorb knowledge, to extend the bounds of their comfort zones. Long distance relationships aren’t just the basis of rom coms or reality television. Chances are that most college students are in one, with parents, siblings, family traditions.
As the timely distance from childhood increases, there is loss. We stop believing in Santa or the Tooth Fairy. We lose the favorite stuffed animal we once couldn’t sleep without. We begrudgingly accept the fact that money does not spring from wallets and that laundry is real life. We realize that our parents aren’t invincible. We give up traditions that once seemed so important (like being awoken with freshly baked goods on the morning of your birthday). Magic is replaced by knowledge.
This year, my birthday will be bittersweet. I’ll be in a city that I love, participating in a program that could potentially set my future career into motion. I’ll be attending a hearing on Capitol Hill, something most U.S. citizens can’t say they have done (and something I am very nerdily excited for). I’ll be surrounded by new friends. I’ll likely consume all manner of fatty delicacies at Good Stuff Eatery.
However, I highly doubt that anyone will awaken me with a song or a cake, and I don’t think candles are allowed in our student residence. My boss won’t take the excuse “but it’s my birthday” for any lackluster performance and my parents won’t be around to refer to January 9th as “my special day”. I will miss these little things that once made the passing of a year of life so astronomical, so exciting, that sleep the night before was impossible. But this aging thing brings about a new kind of thrill, new prospects like drinking legally and living in your first real apartment and graduating, more important milestones than an anniversary of being born.
Erin Dugan
