Twenty-six has been many things. It has been the year I got engaged to the man I love. It has been the year I launched into one of the most meaningful projects of my life to this point. But one thing it has not been is angst-free. In fact, it has been the most “angsty” year of my life. My theory on 26, as many of you have heard, is that it is a uniquely angst-ridden age. You are too young to think rhythm and patterns are blessed; you are always waiting for the next thing, for the current thing to be done. Waiting, anxiously, for the next event of life.
By 27, I hypothesize—dream, perhaps—we have a better appreciation for what it is to be patient, to know that this is life; its not about waiting for the next adventure. Now, that is not to say that I expect adventures to cease or even subside. But I do think that with 27 comes an understanding that they are not all that life is.
When I was 13, I used to trip and fall down a lot. My aunt promised me I would outgrow it when I turned 14. Now, most of you here know that I am still waiting to grow out of that phase! My dream, today, is that 27, unlike 14, will be the dawning of a change. My dream is that tomorrow morning, I will usher in an angst-free, mellow-style, appreciation for the moment, spirituality in the daily way of being.
Anyone here who is 27, don’t tell me I’m wrong. I don’t care; I have to believe.
To those of you who have yet to turn 26, I am sorry.
To those of you are still 26, I am sorry. It is good on this end.
To those of you who are beyond 26, I’m coming!
And, to 26 itself, good riddance, fuck you; a toast to your passing!
