12.24.2007 — Don't call me 24

It’s scary, really.

Three minutes ago, I turned 24. As in, I’ve been on this earth for 8,760 days, 210,240 hours, 12,614,400 minutes — you get the point.

I’m old. No, not compared to John Chaney. But compared to, well, me of yesteryear. Or even last year.

Consider my past year, probably the most exciting and peripatetic of my life.

A year ago today, I was getting readjusted to life in the United States. I was four days removed from being abroad, having returned from a three-and-a-half-month stay in Australia and a three-day vacation in New Zealand.

Living across the world was the best part of my life. Sure, there was school and an internship, but there was no stress. It basically was an extended vacation. I enjoyed every minute of it.

Then came my final semester of school at Albion College, which turned out to be, contrary to what I anticipated, my best few months at Albion. With a lighter workload than during my first three years, I enjoyed myself more — despite working five days a week — and as the final days approached, I dreaded the end.

But, sadly, it came. On May 12, I graduated from Albion — and was thrown out into the real world.

OK, that’s a lie. I moved back in with the nicest people in the world, my parents, and they didn’t even charge rent or room and board. I commuted 40 minutes each way to my part-time job at the Jackson Citizen Patriot. But I knew I couldn’t live at home and earn $9.50 an hour at a 28-hour-a-week job for long.

So in July I finalized plans to make the first major move of my life — an emigration to North Carolina to move in with my cousin/brother J-bo.

Late July and early August were great. Some of the best times of my life. First, my boy Tick and I went on our second annual baseball trip, visiting Milwaukee’s Miller Park, and Chicago’s Wrigley Field — my first time — and U.S. Cellular Field. In August, I flew to Utopia — aka Sandwich, N.H. — for two amazing weeks of hiking with J-bo and others.

And then the wait began. Late August and September slogged along until, at long last, I shed a few tears — seriously — and packed my Honda Civic for Durham, N.C. After a three-day stop in D.C., I arrived on a hot, humid day in early October.

… And now here I am, 24 — celebrating my birthday for the first time away from home. When I go to church tonight, there won’t be any animals — as is the tradition in telling Jesus’ story at the church in Ann Arbor. Tomorrow, I’ll bring in Christmas without any white stuff outside and without Mom, Bust and Ro sitting around me.

It’s all weird, kind of scary, kind of exciting. Yes, plenty of emotions.

But, honestly, I don’t feel 24 years old (I guess that’s a good thing). I feel about 18, maybe 19. I still love acting a kid. You wanna shoot hoops in the rain? I’m down. You wanna scalp cheap tickets then move down at a game? You better. The way I see it, you’re only old if you act old.

So now I move forward, with 365 days left until the Big No. 25. Will the next year of my life be as crazy and transient as this past one?

I can’t give a definitive answer, I really can’t, because I don’t want to commit to anything. There are only a few guarantees I can give:

I won’t step into a mall if I don’t have to. I’ll continue to watch hundreds of hours of sports games, and I’ll probably continue to write about sports.

I’ll eat a lot, I’ll probably sleep a lot, and I’ll definitely exercise a lot.

Lots of tennis, hoops and chess are in the works. I’ll also put to use my video camera, creating some YouTube classics for all you (one or two people) interested.

And maybe I’ll start living on a normal schedule, such as going to bed by 12 and waking up by 8.

Then again, that’s unlikely. After all, I don’t want to show any signs that my youth is fading. And if I can’t live by a college student’s hours, what kind of message will I be sending?

I know, that sounds nonsensical.

But forgive me. I’m still just a kid.