On the silver anniversary of my birth.

As of yesterday, I am 25 years old.
It’s an important birthday, I think. A milestone. A clear delineation. I feel—to quote The Pursuit of Happiness—like an adult now.
Interestingly, I’m not at all bothered by it. It feels appropriate, comfortable and empowering. I’m pleased with where I am right now. I like that I have a bit of experience—not much, mind you, but some—to back me up. I’m turning over this new year with great friends, a decent job, a cool place to live and a wonderful boyfriend. I’ve got ideas of my own and more plans than I can collate. I’m not sure, but I suspect there’s a new kind of confidence brewing in my belly—not the cocky bravado of my younger years, but a quiet conviction in my ability to do some things.
Lest I sound like an insufferable ninny, I must say that it’s not all hunky-dory. Naturally, my life is not perfect, and I’ve certainly made some regrettable decisions along the way—those who knew me four or five years ago could certainly corroborate this. On the whole, however, I’d say that things feel pretty good with a quarter-century under my belt.
Oh, and another milestone: this post is the 100th I’ve made on this humble little site in the past year or so. Thus begins the senility!