25

My birthday rushed through the day this year like a train furiously reaching its destination. In a way I wanted it that way; this was one of the first times I actually felt 25. Once August came around this year, Nick had already begun rotations. Tina's dream career suddenly became tangible, and Peter's million dollar smile seemed to be all the more white combined with his new white coat. The theme seemed to coalesce -- people are moving forward, and I was not.

Twenty-five, the age where car insurance says your brain is done developing, therefore your rates become lower, and you're no longer slapped with a fine for being "underage" by car rental companies. A quarter of a hundred, a very agreeable number.

I've questioned my career choice a dozen times this past year, took many first steps towards new careers, only to quickly retract them (a pile of GMAT books stills sit on my bookshelf, the shrink wrap untorn). I tell myself most days, I do not want to code. I also wake up every weekday morning, go to work and code. Is it that I don't want to code, or do I not want to work hard? I think I'm a smart kid, and (arrogantly so) I think I'm smarter than most, although most people probably believe that. However, when you measure intelligence to hard work, hard work will always win.

So where does that bring me?
I want to be a better coder.
It will take hard work.
I want to be a better writer.
It will take hard work.
I want to know myself better.
It will take hard work.
I want to be be physically fit
It will take hard work.
I want to feel more connected with those around me.
It will take hard work.
I want to understand grace better and apply it to my life.
Ironically, it will also take hard work.

Happy 25th Birthday, Rich. Sometimes it seems like youth is over at 25, and while that may be true, evident from my aching back after a few games of flag football, I surely don't want the fact that my path is determined by 25.