On Turning 21 (...bitches!)

On the eve of my 21st birthday, I have taken the time to write down two important points that I always revisit this time of year.  One is a bit silly, and the other is more serious, but both are genuine and heavily dwelt upon in my musings.

My birthday is a highly important date to me.  I wait all year for the otherwise-lousy-turned-spectacular month of November to roll around just so I can flaunt that I am in a celebratory mood for thirty days straight.

After many years of meticulous introspection, I have found the key to always having a successful birthday.
I say this to myself: 

Today, I deserve to be celebrated.  I deserve to celebrate my life; the memories of my past, and the ambitions of my future.  This day, even if I celebrate alone, I celebrate heartily.  Nothing can bring me down; not a punch in the face, not a bad mood, not heavy traffic, and not even having to kill a spider all by myself.  

When I put these expectations on my birthday, they pertain solely to myself.  That way I am not relying on a single person to help me determine if my day meets my standards of satisfaction.  With this mindset I am fully aware that negativity can't bring me down.  In fact, I'm not even affected by it.  It is in this fashion I have celebrated my birthday for many years, and I can happily say that my advice has not once steered me wrong. 

With all that being said, my joy in celebrating birthdays comes with the sobering (...haha) knowledge that growing older takes some time to get used to.    

I've always worked hard at heeding the advice to avoid "wishing your life away."  We've all had that older, wiser adult tell us, "When you're older, you'll be wishing you were young again!"

Because of this effort I've put into appreciating my life in the present, a lot of contemplation goes into my emotional state a month or so before my birthday every year.  Remember when you turned 20?  Everybody complains that turning 20 is no special feat because it's "just a nothing year."  As a 19-year-old, I really dug my heels in.  "Hello?!" I thought, "I'm exiting teenager-hood, these glorious years.  This is BIG, is it not? I have lived seven whole years in this stage.  I know nothing else.  How will I view myself as a 20-year-old?  How will others view me?  How will this event effect the emotional stability of someone who doesn't think she's ready for the world that's hurtling toward her?"

But then I turned 20, even as I squinted and shied away.  And as nostalgic and comfortable as it was for me to dwell on my past and fret my future, a few whispered trials to myself in the mirror, sounding like, "Hi, I'm Heather, and I'm 20," helped me figure out how to feel okay wearing my new identity.

Again I approach that threshold, now a milestone marker that, to my peers, is what they've really been waiting for.  "It's about time!" they shout, while I'm saying, "eh, hold on just one minute."

I feel I need to close my eyes for an indefinite amount of time and soak up the essence of who I am right at this moment, before I'm ushered off into a new age bracket, a new year, a new set of responsibilities, and a new skin to which I will once again have to grow accustomed.  For me, turning a year older is so much more than just getting old.  It's about collecting my experiences, piling them up, honing my abilities, accepting my mistakes, navigating my future, leaving my legacy, all the while feeling every emotion to the highest degree.

Twenty, you've done me well.
Twenty-one, bring it.