The Number 23

(Expections of age 23)

(Reality at age 23)

 (I should have known this would all culminate with a photo of a cupcake.)

Remember that inevitable moment in high school, the moment where you think to yourself, just wait until college?  That universal thought, where you are intrigued by the endless possibilities of the future, may very well be the single most exhilarating and terrifying thought for a young, innocent adolescent.   What you didn't realize, if you've reached the appropriate age, is that the feeling can come full circle as your four years of college comes to a close (Or in the case of my buddy Rick, TBD years.  Love ya brotha.)  The mysterious aura of the unknown remains forever tempting as the strange mix of exhilarating and frightening emotions returns as swiftly and clumsily as Ted Mosby re-returned to McLaren's.  After two months on the job, I could not have lucked out more so far after college.

I’m twenty-three now.  Does that make me an adult?  It's hard to believe that...this time last year my roommate Nick was smashing bottles against the window in attempt to kill a hornet's nest, my friends began hilariously ubiquitous "USA! USA!" chants,  and I was being asked by a girl to describe what I saw across her living room in a seductive manner (which is about as mature and seductive as it sounds.  "I see a window, a television, a picture frame.." Future note, when a girl asks you to play I Spy on a date, the relationship is going south.)

Did you ever consider what your life was going to be like when you were twenty-three?  I know I did.  I remember being ten years old, constantly playing basketball on the plastic hoop that hung on my bedroom doorframe.  I was a high-flyer (I vividly remember telling my sister once that "white men can jump"...so long, innocence).  I was absolutely arrogant that I would be selected in the 2011 NBA draft.  To tell you how long it took me to do the math to find out what year I would be drafted would reveal another reason for my liberal arts degree.  But hey, bonus points for wanting to stay in college for four years at such an early age, right?

(Also, in hindsight, it’s probably a good thing my athletic ability maxed out on my indoor hoop; being drafted into this tormenting lockout would have been as fulfilling as the series finale of Twin Peaks.  Wait a minute…Did you see what I just did there?  I referenced a polarizing show that WASN’T Lost?  I really must be growing up.)
 
Unlike Jim Carrey, however, I’m not haunted by the number 23.  Despite the sad, sad facts that Dash Harris is still playing college basketball and the Rockets will eventually pay Chandler Parsons to play for them, I’m blessed to be where I’m at right now.  I have an incredible job that I could not be happier with, an awesome apartment lined up downtown, and an outlet here at Charging Interests where I can have my useless stream-of-consciousness-style ramblings be read by some fantastic and loyal people.




Not to mention a group of friends that would have made an excellent entourage if I had been drafted into the NBA.  USA! USA! Sewer rage! Sewer rage!


-PB (credit to Bunce for the band)