When I was 17, I was in the car with my sister and I told her I couldn’t wait to be 18; she looked at me and said, “Enjoy your teens through 21 ‘s as much as possible because the rest of your 20′s is all about working…and your 20′s basically suck.” I struggled to defy this notion. To my dismay, she ended up being mostly correct.

When you’re 20, you might as well just be 17. You might have acquired three new words you regularly implement into your vocabulary, and perhaps realize the power of getting at least 5 hours of sleep per night. You can party like a rockstar and stumble into class and perform well.

Age 21 is close to 20, with one obvious difference: you’re sick of drinking.

Age 22 is a cool age. It’s a far cry from 20 and 21. You feel so grown up, ready to take on the world;

Age 23 is the year you realize you are not equipped to even do your own laundry, let alone take on the world;

Age 24 is the phantom year–it comes and goes without you knowing it and nothing memorable–good or bad. Caution: it’s the calm before the storm;

Age 25 is worse than a quarter life crises. It’s the worst case scenario you can conjure up when thinking of what your thirties will be like, combined with a state of mass confusion. When you are 25 years of age, you have hit rock bottom–if you make it out alive, the only direction you can go is up;

Age 26 is the year that mirrors age 25, but you are pulling yourself out of the psychological earthquake you just experienced and there are no aftershocks, thankfully.

Age 27 is a breath of fresh air. Things are starting to look up. It’s a 75/25 ration of clarity to confusion.

Age 28…well it’s only been a few hours since I’ve been here, but it seems rounded. And rounded-ness is sort of like wholeness, right?

An old friend of mine just celebrated a Birthday and I missed it. I tend to do that often, but I must admit that I forget even my own Birthday. However, this is a BIG Birthday that I missed. So after 125 years, I am saying Happy Birthday to the Brooklyn Bridge. I couldn’t actually be there to celebrate, but I did enjoy the fireworks and the new colorful lighting scheme. Every time I walk over that 6,000 foot suspension, I am reminded that I am glad somebody knows how to build a superstructure…and that I don’t live in California, with earthquakes and all. And I observe all of the tourists taking pictures and relishing the view, I feel nothing but happiness for them because they seem so happy, safe, secure and a little bit on edge. But that’s okay. As Brooklyn’s official historian, Ron Schweiger pointed out, “It’s an icon for not only New York, but for America.” So, Happy Belated Birthday, BB. In this light, you’re looking better than the Golden Gate…