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On Birthdays

My birthday was this weekend, and naturally, turning one year older induces contemplation.
When I was growing up, people told me to enjoy my childhood days because soon I would be in the real world. The implication was that the real world would suck. I suppose people said this because they wanted to warn me about the responsibilities that come with adulthood: jobs, expenses, etc. But what they seemed to forget to tell me was that the real world includes a wonderful thing called freedom.

 

With each passing year, my life has only improved. I am no longer a child who is subject to the whims and fancies (and yes, sometimes the logical rules) of my parents. I no longer have to spend my days in institutions of learning; I can learn whatever I want, whenever I want. Heck, I decided to learn to knit and taught myself. Most of my knitted creations resemble the pictures on the patterns. Go me. I can choose my own career path; I can write a novel and share it with the world. Then, when the workday is done, I can decide how to spend my time. And I can spend my money on any ridiculous thing I want, even this ridiculous thing:
I had to wait until adulthood to get my dream horse. And she was worth the wait.

So instead of mourning the fact that I am another year older, I am celebrating the fact that I am another year freer.

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