Here's to me, Mrs. Robinson

I went to a dinner party on Saturday night in which I was the only person not engaged, married, pregnant, or a parent. (Yes, I did consider throwing myself off the balcony, but we were only on the first floor.) As all the conversation inevitably turned to mommyhood, one of the girls said something to the effect of while she hated being pregnant for what it did to her body, she loved the nine months of attention it brought her.

That's kind of how I am feeling about my birthday tomorrow. (Or, by the time most of you read this, today). The email and the Facebook messages have already started rolling in (thank you!) and with each one, I feel a surge of excitement, of pride, a sense of validation that I matter. I thrive off of the attention. And yet, in the downtime between each new message, I find myself still dreading 33, unable to escape the unusal feeling of being uncomfortable in my own skin.

I know 33 isn't old. (Even though I saw, in response to a Facebook friend's comment about turning 30, that the girl "didn't have to worry about going downhill until [she was] 33." Yikes.) I also know that there's no use getting upset, because 33 is the youngest I'll ever be. It's just the mental image of 33 - that I should be an adult, have wrinkles and gray hair, and have children - that seem so far removed from where I am. Don't get me wrong - I have plenty of wrinkles, plenty of gray hair. I just prefer to think of myself as a 25 year old with foggy mirrors and a finely honed sense of denial.

I have to say, 32 was a great year. While mentally, I probably wasn't the happiest I've ever been, I think I had more amazing - if not life-altering, life-affecting - experiences this year than ever. A brief recap:

- Malibu beach birthday party
- Kristin's bachelorette party in Las Vegas
- Kristin's wedding in Tarrytown
- Time travel in Canyon Ranch
- I inexplicably and rather immediately became a yogi.
- The Cringe Book
- OMG I purchased an iPhone (and I swear, it has changed my life)
- Crazy condo shopping
- Peru!
- Happy day, Mr. President!
- I miraculously found a good dentist!
- And ultimately started Invisalign!
- I finally got a dining room table. And a washer/dryer!
- My writing class. With Chaka.

- I was textually assaulted.
- Disneyland!
- Still and always, a fame whore

- Adopted a(n invisible) pet
- I met Dooce and Stephanie Klein
- Party weekend in Palm Springs!
- The weekend in which Swingers met The Graduate
- And probably a ton of other things I am forgetting about, but really, how freaking lucky am I?!

I don't know when birthdays became about meeting mental goals or elaborate expectations we've set for ourselves. I know that ultimately, it has to do with feelings of insecurity, inadequacy, and it appears I'm never too old to be affected by either. But at what point, do you think, I'll be able to stop being wistful and just remain thankful for the amazing amount of life I've already lived? I know they say youth is wasted on the young, but it will be a big mark of maturity for me if I can ever just revel in my achievements.

I was in yoga yesterday, bent way back in camel, when I heard a big thump on the floor in front of me. I didn't pay any attention at first - people topple over in yoga all the time. But then I heard gasps and a number of people moving hurriedly across the room. I looked up, and the tall, skinny girl who had been demonstrating the move just seconds before was now horizontal, hands shaking yet eerily still, on the hardwood floor. I couldn't tell if she was laughing or having a seizure.

It turned out she had fainted, her heart having spent too long higher than her head. But it took a few seconds for her to come to, and in that short amount of time, I wondered if she might have been dead. It sounds silly, trite, to talk about now. Of course she was okay. Of course I was just projecting my own Hollywood-inspired, worst-case-scenario scenario. I was already writing the blog post in my head. But in those few minutes as she lay still, then came around, and eventually walked out with the EMT's, it was a sober reminder about how fleeting health can be.

For my 33rd year, I don't expect to change much from 32. I won't suddenly stop being wistful, won't always remember to appreciate what I have. But I think I lived more in the past year - tried things out of my comfort zone, acted a bit more spontaneous, and just challenged myself in ways I haven't been in a while - and that is a lifestyle I would be proud, for one more year, to put forth.