My 25th birthday was not much different from any other I’ve had. It was a Sunday in early January and I spent the day with my husband. We went out to eat at a local restaurant and he gave me a fabulous present. A shopping spree!!
Needless to say, I had a great time. I didn’t feel any different, and I attributed my comfort with my new age to the fact that I’ve never cared about things like that. After all, age is something I can’t control or change.
Fast forward 7.5 months to the start of my lunch break today
I’m reading an email from one of my Aunts. The subject line reads, “Chocolate math” so it’s no wonder I’m drawn to it as soon as it appears in my inbox. Real math, no thank you. Chocolate math, I’m intrigued.
The email poses a bunch of questions (how many times/week you want to eat chocolate, etc.) and instructs me to add up the numbers in a way that is supposed to result in my age. I was about half way through the math when I realized my number was going to be 25. I immediately thought, ‘Haha! I beat the survey. I’m not 25, so this is wrong!’ Then I started thinking, if I’m not 25, how old am I?
25. A wave of panic rushed over me. I got very hot, my hands started sweating, and it felt like a big fat man sat on my chest making it hard to breathe. Next came the dizziness. This lasted about 2 minutes before I snapped out of it.
Could it really be that it took over 7 months for me to *realize* that I’m 25? And why did this cause me to have a mini-panic attack?! Why is 25 frightening? Minutes later, I can offer no logical explanation for the poor physical response I had to a fact with which I thought I was already comfortable.
Ha Ha I have that same experience when I realize I am NOT 25!!!