So I turned 29 over the weekend (on ren ri, no less). 29, a prime number for a decade supposedly marking one's prime. It's the kind of birthday age I guess in which one takes stock. Not that I'm going to reveal my thoughts to all and sundry on the Internet! But I still can't believe I'm not 21 sometimes. Or 2.9. Met up with friends and we talked about how in college, the possible paths one's life could take were so varied. And with each year I guess the choices narrow. Not that that's bad, but it's different.
Right, now for thirtysomething angst.
Anyway, the part on diminishing possibilities reminded me of a Kundera passage I read. It's a sign of aging, growing up.