Maybe Biggie had it right.
I never understood why adults were so comatose on birthdays. Birthdays are supposed to be days of celebration. Days where you get presents and see your family. You're supposed to be happy on your birthday. Right?
That last one might not be entirely true. I just turned 22 (I know, the big two-two). And I was shocked at how regular the day seemed. You want to know what I did to celebrate? I went to work.
Now, it might be that I'm just a boring person (up for debate) or that I work too hard (my boss would say that's definitely not true). But I don't think 22 has no significance, especially compared to 21.
No, I don't get to legally purchase all sorts of goodies (18, remember, brought tobacco and R-rated movie tickets). And, I can already purchase alcohol (oh how I love 21). So what does 22 bring me? How is any other birthday from here on out significant?
Maybe it's because I'm on my way into the real world (gasp) but I don't see the greatness of every birthday. What do I have to look forward to, at least in terms of numbers? Kind of ironic to think how much I loved "my" day when I was a kid. Maybe this is just part of the process when I go from one of "us" to one of "them." Can't wait.