I celebrated my 30th birthday on Mar. 21 of this year.
At that time, I had a fine-ass, supersmart girlfriend who was on her way to becoming my wife. I had successfully rejoined the legitimate workforce after an extended hiatus. I was almost done with the documentary that was the cause of that hiatus. I carried no debt. I had never worked a retail job. And I sat in the nosebleed seats at the Wachovia Center in Philly watching the first round of the 2006 NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament. All in all...I was a pretty happy dude.
Or so I thought.
Apparently, I was miserable and didn't know it. I suspect this now because I have since sabotaged the relationship that acted as the fulcrum for that moment. I've piled up low four figures in credit card debt. And I've moved out of the apartment I shared with the woman I thought I would build a home with.
Which is probably why I write.
After searching craigslist, I found a room in a house with a couple of 22-ish guys who seemed pretty cool. Getting to know them and moving into the house itself feels very much like the first day of college. Moving into the dorms. Discovering new people. New places. New freedoms.
I'm 30 years old. But I feel like I'm going on 18.
What will happen next? Guess we'll all find out.