Last gasp of the twenties

Hard as it is for me to believe, I'm turning 29 this year. I'm looking smack dab in the face of the end of my twenties, and the beginning of my thirties. Just seems like this should feel different somehow, more momentus. I mean, shouldn't the world stop and look and collectively gasp at how such a young looking individual as myself could possibly be entering the tail end of his late twenties? "Can't be!" people should be saying, or "He doesn't look a day over 22!"

I'm waiting people.

OK, it's possible that the sideburns going gray, and the hairs falling out of the top of my head are giving people the physical reminders of what my years are. But mentally? Surely people all around the world should be stopping and taking notice of my boyish personality, my gawkish innocence, my... OK, that seems a stretch.

Looking back a decade seems an eternity. I was 19, and getting ready to enter the second semester of my second year at UMaine. I was living in the dorms in a double-single, and no doubt trying to convince myself that this, THIS! would be the semester when I would finally (re)dedicate myself to my classes. Also, as it is 3:10 on a Friday, I was probably already well into a case of busch bar bottles (our afternoon beers) in Robinson's room, passing time playing NBA Hangtime until the dining commons opened for dinner. Oh, and I had a beard and long hair. Surprisingly, I was single.

Now? I'm getting married in June, and to be honest, the thought isn't really all that scary anymore, in fact it's more reassuring than anything. I own a house, a truck, and a dog. I've worked for the same place since April 2000, and have been promoted a couple dubious times. If my hair gets longer than two inches, I start to feel shaggy, and I shave once a week whether or not I need it.

Looking forward to ten years from now, I'm not sure what would surprise me. Kids? Wouldn't surprise me. New job (s)? Hell, if you offered me one today I just might take it. Same truck? Why not? It's a toyota. Hair? Yup, having hair in ten years would surprise me.

Oh well, I'm off to enjoy the last gasp of 28. By which, of course, I mean that I'm going to go play some raquet ball.