An Almost Quarter-Life Crisis

There are two types of people in this world: those who love their birthday and those who despise them. I’m definitely part of the latter minority. I generally tend to let my birthday whimper away quietly in the cold, dreary December winter without much noise or fanfare.

I turned 24 today. As a kid, that was the oldest I could ever imagine myself. 24. It’s not even prime. It’s a semi-perfect number. It’s the lowest number that has exactly eight divisors. It’s a highly totient number and also represents the number of hours in a single day. But to me, 24 represents the end of a personal timeline. I fondly reminisce about the days where I would sit and just daydream about how my life would be more than a decade later (what seemed to me, at the time, eternity). I had it all, more or less, quite figured out: I knew what I wanted to study (Computer Science). I knew where I wanted to work (Microsoft). I just knew the man guy I wanted to be. But I never really thought much about life after 24.

And yet here I am. Just like that — entering an uncharted and unplanned time of my life.

I’m jazzed about the future. But I’m happy with where I am. And I’m thankful for everything I have.

Adieu. Navid.