Yesterday, I turned 27. The number twenty-seven holds no magical properties and this particular age does not signal any great change is my status as person (except maybe the inevitable shift from my ‘mid-twenties’ to ‘late-twenties’). I have already passed the magical ages: 16 years old (I can drive without benefit of having a grown up in the car), 18 years old (I can vote, often a disheartening proposition at best), 21 years old (I can buy booze, something I stopped caring about not too long after turning 21). The only thing turning 27 years old really means is I am now in shouting distance of 30.
Even approaching thirty, I don’t really feel grown up. However, there are times I feel old. It seems like not that long ago I could happily drink a veritable cornucopia of alcoholic concoctions, go to bed and wake up the next morning ready to run a marathon. Now, it takes me a full day to recover from such a binge. Similarly, sleep has become more of a necessity, and where I used to be fully functional on mere hours of sleep, these days I become something akin to the extras in Michael Jackson’s Thriller music video when I don’t get enough beauty rest.
I celebrated yesterday with a group of friends who came downtown last night. We saw a couple of bands at concert in the park. Had sushi and sake bombs at Nashiki for dinner and we wrapped the night up at a couple of bars. I ultimately had 4 beers, 4 sake bombs, 1 shot and a couple mixed drinks. This morning, a few of us made it over to Cafe Bernardo for breakfast. Tonight a few more friends are coming into town and we’ll do more of the same (although, maybe a little less alcohol for me). Tomorrow, my parents are planning to be in-town for lunch which means that I will have successfully extended my birth-day into a birth-weekend. Huzzah!
I’m thankful for the friends and family who’ve shared the last 27 years with me and look forward to many more.