I’m officially entering my mind-twenties in a couple of days (No, you don’t have to break your piggy bank getting me something from my Amazon wish list. <cough>cheapo</cough>). As exciting a period this might seem for most folk, I seem to have associated with it numerous non-positive connotations. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time bitching about it to the only person who’s willing to listen, my mom.
I won’t bore you with the details, but the crux of the issue is that I feel I’ve been around long enough, and yet done so little.
» Found no cure for a major disease.
» In a more general sense, haven’t been terribly useful to mankind.
» No stellar intellectual achievement (or recognition, like the Nobel prize).
» No supremely intelligent, sensitive, significant other.
» No ultimately loyal friends who’d be willing to take a bullet for me in a battlefield.
» On a more materialistic level, no many-millions of dollars in the bank, fancy palaces or personal jets.
Anyway, I went on and on about these and more when she kept trying to get me to acknowledge that I am not “that old” yet, and have amounted to something.
But the fact remains, even when I look back at my own parents, by this time in their lives they’d done a lot more.