On the tw’eve of my 27th birthday.

Today is not the first day I’ve seriously considered breaking all of my dirty dishes in order to avoid washing them and I turn 27 the day after tomorrow.

Two eve’s away (hence “tw’eve”) and like birthday eve and tw’eves of past I’m taking a fearless moral inventory of myself and my life. Yes, that is step 4. The alcoholics have a point. Actually, they have 12. Regardless, it is the same thing every year…

Instead of waiting until the beginning of January to start new year’s resolutions I make birthday resolutions. I make a list of all the things I’d like to change, fix, start, finish, try or forgive over the course of the next year. Each year with out fail I’ve exceeded my expectations overall. However, also with out fail each year as my birthday arrives I uncomfortably notice I am not at the meridian of my own forecast of accomplishment.

Obviously excluding the 3 majors of the last 364 days (my dad dying, my heart getting broken and me getting fired) it’s been a great year. There were a lot of positive things that happened this year which included a lot of travel and ‘once in a lifetime’ type of experiences: seeing Paul McCartney live at Wrigley Field for instance. Truly a once in a lifetime experience that I had to debate over for nearly an hour. I took a break at work to call my mother for encouragement to spend my last $80 of the payweek on my ticket. I call her, she picks up, I set up the marvelousness of the possibility by explaining I have the chance to see one of the greats in person. I lead her, so she can create her own excitement “Sir…” She thinks a moment before responding “NO! No. No! SIR MIX A LOT?! No way! You HAVE to go.” My excitement fizzled. “No, Mom, Sir Paul McCartney.” “Oh, call your Aunt, she’ll be excited.” Leave it to my mother to prefer Sir Mix a Lot to Paul McCartney. So I hung up, called my aunt, who said “Are you crazy? You HAVE to go!” so I went back in, bought my ticket, went and had the time of my life.

Another great feat is I moved into my own adorable one bedroom apartment during the first quarter of the year. Which is one of the catalysts for this austere deconstruction of my life to date. I don’t want to wake up on my 27th birthday with a messy apartment. It’s currently in a state of dissaray. Like me. I don’t measure the value of my life by the things I own, but I want to take pride in what I surround myself with. I don’t want to have to wake up for the first time as a 27 year old to a sink full of dirty dishes. The anniversary of the day of my birth should be sacred. I should be celebrated not only by record breaking posts on my facebook wall, but by me, in person. I should regale in the magnificence of me. A birthday should technically be a celebration of the person who did the popping and not the breathtaking beauty that popped out, but since I really like cake I, once again, agree to celebrate my birth.

For the last month or so as I’ve begun this blogging adventure articling some of my deep strides in the “Adult Development Project” and am growing up accordingly. However, I’ve also done the moral inventory thing and my findings were not thrilling. It’s rough to face the fact that you are not the person you’ve always hoped you would be, but instead a version of the same person you’ve always already been. There are just layers added, and learned. So I am not the type that would break or throw away dishes to avoid washing them, anymore. (Yes, I’ve thrown away something because I didn’t want to clean it.) But I still think about it. I do not spend hundreds of hours feeding the needy or learning a trade to better the world. Instead, I spend the majority of my time contemplating the meaning of life and why we’re all here and if anything that anybody does means anything at all. A philosopher, if you will. Or, just another child of the “entitlement generation” making silent lists of all that I am entitled to- which includes an explanation of not my life, but my existence.

To me, that always sounded completely fair. I heard the expression “entitlement generation” for the first time recently and thought “Yes! That’s the problem with these kids.” Then I googled it and realized that the entire decade I was born in was included in that generation. I thought we counted as “Gen X” hmm, looks like we have some fickle generation namers. It makes a little more sense thinking of us as the entitlement generation, which is also a little disheartening. I’ve always wanted to be special, unique, one of a kind. I think a lot of people share my desire for that classification. The cold, hard truth may be that we’re not. Everyone can do anything. Anyone can do everything. However, there is something that sets us all apart. It’s like a little secret you have with the world. It’s up to you to decide how much of that secret you let out. For those of you that know me, you know I let it all out. Yet, my secret, has been kept secret 26 times over. The 27th time is when it’s different.

I will not air the laundry list of hopes I have for myself in this upcoming year. However, know that I take the Mayan’s December 22, 2012 prediction very seriously. I lose hope and renew it. I want to isolate then talk to every soul alive. I want to be famous then live a simple life of anonymity. I want to save the world then live selfishly through the end of it. I’m sure I will do all of it. After all, aren’t I entitled to?