Another year, another birthday.

Blah, blah, blah.

I turned 23 on Saturday.

Birthdays just aren’t what they used to be.

They just consist of zillions of Facebook messages from people you haven’t talked with in years. Going out to the bar even has become cliché for birthday celebrations.

Remember when you were younger and had these birthday bashes with all your little friends? Those were great.

You were the center of attention. Everyone was focused on you and you ravaged through the worthless wrapping paper and birthday cards to get to your prize.

Kids’ reactions always are the best. You can tell right away if they hate the gift. It’s priceless.

If they like the gift, they jump for joy. They are ecstatic.

Coincidentally, I jumped up and down as I received my Dave Harris (no relation) No. 45 Michigan football jersey. I vowed never to take it off.

I think I said the same words when I was 7 and received a replica Michigan jersey, plastic helmet and yellow pants. Some things just never change.

Still, birthdays aren’t that fun anymore.

People aren’t too excited to celebrate. Heck, I barely got off the couch on Saturday.

It’s probably more the age than anything.

What does 23 mean?

It’s not like turning 21 when you get to drink and go to the bars. Or at 16 when you get to drive. Or 18 when you can vote.

Come to think of it, when is my next meaningful birthday?

I hope it isn’t at 40 when I am supposed to have my mid-life crisis.

Will it be when I get to join the AARP? I don’t even know how old you have to be when you get to join that.

Could it be all downhill from here?

Will birthday after birthday pass by with little meaning?

Maybe, maybe not.

But no matter what the age, it’s important you try to better yourself as you get older. Set goals like you do for New Years resolutions.

And unlike those pesky resolutions that you never complete anyway, actually accomplish them.

My goals are to graduate, get a job and establish myself in the real world. All very tangible goals. I hope, anyway.

It’s also important that you don’t get the ‘oh crap, I’m getting too old’ syndrome. Anyone who responds to the question “how old are you” with “I can’t count that high” is guilty of that one.

With age goes beauty, and comes wisdom.

I don’t have either. So for the next 363 days I am going to come up with more wisdom.

editor@cm-life.com

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