My twenty fifth birthday was revelatory.  There was something about the number, a distinct note of profundity lingering in the digits.  A quarter-century.  I was no longer a kid.  Somewhere along the line, I’d crossed the threshold to adulthood, and this implicit truth amounted to the first birthday I didn’t enjoy.

       No one likes to be reminded of the progression of time.  We’re all too keenly aware of it to begin with to enjoy seeing it physically manifested in a slew of flickering candles perched upon a stale, grocery store cake.  Yet, year after year we plan parties, organize dinners, and go out to bars in an effort to celebrate what amounts to nothing more than a reminder of the fleeting nature of our existence. It made sense when we were younger, back in the years when we yearned for our double digits, teens, and twenties.  But somewhere in the wasteland between twenty one and twenty five, the careful veneer of the birthday gets stripped away, and its unadultered core is revealed…

 

      The birthday serves as a reminder of our own mortality.

 

       It would be easier to stomach were there more milestones to reach, but post quarter life, there’s nothing.  No drinking age to hit, no driver’s license to look forward to, not even a rental car age to reach.  I guess at thirty-five you could run for President, but past the age of ten most people reject that dream as unattainable, let alone desirable.  Instead, we’re forced to muddle through these incessant reminders of our own mortality with nothing to show for it beyond a round of drinks paid for by friends, and a couple “Congratulations!” Hallmark cards that people cleverly try to pass off as “Birthday” cards because Rite Aid was out.

       But all’s not lost when it comes to the birthday.  It’s all about perspective.  Yes, birthdays can be depressing.  In fact, given any inkling of thought, the birthday would have to be deemed the most depressing day of the year.  But it can also be liberating.  There’s a certain carelessness that accompanies age, a liberation from the shackles of self-consciousness that bound you in your youth.  There’s also a worldliness.  The correlation between “old” and “wise” is no coincidence.  Wisdom comes with age, and there’s something exciting about that.

      Lastly, and perhaps most pertinently, the birthday is a sartorial plus.  I say this for two reasons.  One, it’s the only time of year that people willingly spend their hard earned money to outfit your wardrobe.  Two, with each passing year, your style is further cemented, your brand of dress further trademarked.  With that in mind, what better way to celebrate a birthday than with a trip to Marqsmen?

 

Yours truly,

Gary

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