Today is Greg's birthday. Yesterday was my mother's birthday. I am all about birthdays - even when they are not mine. I like shopping for presents (unless the person is impossible to buy for) and I like making a big deal out of someone's day. In turn, I love my own birthday as well - I love cake, I love presents, I love people paying attention to me - what's better than that!?
Greg is not so much into birthdays. He turns 34 today, and he thinks he's now about a million years old. I've been listening to some of my friends complain about how old we are since we've been 23. I have never subscribed to this - if I'm worried, at 32, how old I am, than how old does that make my mother, who turned 66 yesterday? Super-duper-unbelievably-old? No, I don't think so. I don't like to think of my mother as old, so I certainly cannot think of myself as old. Also, because I'm not. We're not. We, in our 20s and 30s, are nowhere near old.
Sure, things are different. I can definitely see generational differences between myself, and say, a 19-year-old. But that just makes us different - I'm not obsolete yet!
(Lisa - I swear I was thinking about all of this stuff before I read your blog entry from yesterday. I'm not copying you! Greg has been complaining about his age for WEEKS now.)