"After 21, there aren't any more good birthdays," I said to my friend as we drove back to school after Easter Break. She agreed with my sentiment, noting that with the possible exception of 25 and 35, the respective ages to legally run for Congress and the presidency, 21 is the apex in the mountain range of birthdays.
By the end of the trip, we had pretty much talked ourselves into a small depression, aside from the gloomy feeling of returning to class. We could practically see ourselves in ten years, twenty years, fifty years, without having accomplished all those childhood dreams. Reality had struck us just as hard as it had our parents.
The hope that the best days are still ahead is life's internal motivator. Most people work with the purpose of setting themselves on a path that promises to be fruitful. It seems that the promise of tomorrow fades more and more while growing older. With potentially less time, the opportunity to realize dreams and recover childhood aspirations dwindles.
Slipping into the geriatric community, however, does bring a different form of promise that is actually quite refreshing. It is the promise of freedom, a lack of responsibility, and time for reflection.
For college students driving back to school after a little taste of relaxation, old age may not seem so bad. The skin probably won't be as tight, the mind may not be as sharp and the body most likely won't move as well, but youthful features aren't necessarily the keys to happiness.
The liberation of an empty schedule should be something to look forward to after working through a tight one for so long. The choice to do everything, something or nothing at all is the reward of a lifetime. And to do it with the wisdom and insight of experience is an added bonus.
Live everyday like tomorrow will be the best day of all, and no matter what birthday comes next, it promises to be better than the one before.