My 27th Draft
Is it really my birthday?
Last Friday, I got a text from my cousin asking if I was excited for Monday. I replied, “Sure… What’s happening on Monday?” That’s how I was reminded of my birthday.
Twenty seven seems like the oddest of birthdays. It carries none of the significance of reaching twenty five, it lacks the existential dread of turning twenty nine, instead it simply sits as one more year on the other side of twenty five.
An “Actual” Adult
A couple of weeks ago, my Church was reminding everyone that they were hosting a Young Adults Picnic in the coming weeks. Immediately I wrote it off, thinking, “I can’t stand stuff like that.” Only for it to dawn on me five minutes later, at twenty six going on twenty seven, I’m not really considered a young adult anymore. Now I’m expected to be an actual adult.
Being an actual adult comes with both fun and frustrating consequences that weave through daily life. From twenty six to twenty seven, I have published my first novel, Reason and Romance, written the second draft of my second novel, traveled to Hollywood, Colorado, and spent a month in the armpit of Texas. A lot has happened, and here are some of the lessons I’ve learned from the experiences.
