Age is a silly thing. I work with someone who claims to play with his age the same way I play with my gender, and I think it’s a fair analogy. Age is a biologically-based number with lots of social constructions built up around it. I don’t really get to change my age. But I get to play with it.
Today I turn 25, and I’m not being quiet about it. Thanks to the beauty of social networking websites, hundreds of people are aware that it’s my birthday and are taking the 30 seconds out of their day to congratulate me on it. I’m being ambushed with text messages, emails, direct messages, and facebook wall notes. (Thank god I’m not getting that many phone calls.) I’m over the phase of trying to pretend it’s not my birthday and feeling neglected when people don’t magically remember it. I have no problem telling you. IT’S MY BIRTHDAY TODAY. I don’t want gifts. Just acknowledgment. Just jump up and down with me for a second. Help me make it a little more real. Help me convince my subconscious to make a shift in self-image. Help me close the door on age 24.
What’s the difference between today and yesterday? Not a year, that’s for sure. The difference is a social construction. “25” means something different than “24”. It means a quarter of a century. It means I can rent a car without paying the Irresponsible Driver Penalty. It means I’m in my “mid-twenties” instead of my “early twenties.” It means I’m three years older than the average age of college graduation, which means I could, legitimately, based on mainstream standards, reasonably do the jobs I do now.
At some point in my life, I fell under the impression that I wouldn’t be taken seriously until I turned 25. I called bullshit on that notion a long time ago, but I still noticed the raised eyebrows. Now that I’ve hit the number, I’m done with the eyebrows.
I’m 25 years old with 11 years experience building websites and reading poetry at microphones, and four years of self-employment in the tech industry. I’ve never lied about my age, but I’m done with trying to walk like I’m older than I am. I get to be 25 now. And all of the middle fingers I’ve been giving social constructions for the last handful of years can relax. I made it. So there.
Posted in my story, Personal | 
9 Comments » | May 1st, 2008