The Year I Grew Up: A Talk of Faith & Faults

Today is my 24th birthday, but before you feel the obligation to wish me a happy day of birth, let me stop you. There is no need. I’ve walked into today with no feelings of excitement or anticipation. Instead, I look at it as just another day in the routine of life.

Now, I’m not saying this with any sort of disdain or ill-feelings towards my birthday. I am glad that I was born, after all. As every year passes, the special ambiance once felt as a child regarding my birthday dwindles. The presents become more scarce, their usefulness more logical, and becoming another year older just means you’ve gained more experience than what you had last year.

This experience is the only reason I have a spark of enthusiasm as my age ticks another number higher. This past year was one for the books. I had so many new experiences and unexpected twists and turns as a 23-year-old that I look back over the last year and marvel at the person molded before me in the mirror.

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My Greatest Fear

I don’t know about you, but I am frequently asked the question, “What do you want to do with your life?” I never know how to answer. I know where I am in life now. I know what I’m doing with my life now. However, the future? No, thank you. Like I said in 7 Questions to Finding Life’s Purpose, I haven’t been able to find a suitable answer in terms of the future my entire life! It’s gotten to the point that the next time I encounter this predicament (you know, when Great Aunt Marge, the one I vaguely remember due to the mole on her chin, catches me at the latest family reunion and asks about my future) I’m just going to say something completely random: “Oh, I’m preparing to take a walk-about in the Australian Outback in order to better coagulate my thoughts into a state of higherness where I can adamantly state who and what I will be as a fuller adult.” Then as she pieces together that my statement obviously makes no sense whatsoever, I’ll walk away.

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