Today, July 11 is my 23rd birthday. I don't feel 23. What is 23 supposed to "feel" like anyways? I'll be going in to work today. Part of growing older means accepting more responsibility. Now, more people rely on me, look up to me, and ask me for advice; in that way I suppose it's not so bad.

22 was great. I graduated from college, moved to the other side of America, found an amazing job working with awesome people, then I moved again. As far as years go, 22 was quite eventful. I can still vividly remember celebrating my 22nd birthday with new friends in San Francisco. Oh how time flies.

What's ahead? What new goals will I be pursuing? I want to write a book. More on this to follow, but when you've committed to make writing one of your habits, book ideas start organically bubbling in your mind. Eventually, the only way to get rid of them is to write them away. So, I want to write a book this year.

What else? I want to start meeting more people. For me, it took eight months after moving from Ohio to Berkeley, California before I really felt like I had a core group of regular friends. This means signing up for more sports leagues, going to meetups, acquiring new skills and meeting other passionate like-minded people who share an interest in tasting teas, how to prepare seafood, or making your own pasta.

23 will be a great year. I can feel it (hopefully I did't just jinx it). I'm knocking on a wood table right now. But I do feel optimistic about the future. If there's one thing I've learned in my 22 years and 364 days, it's that life is full of surprises. Good or bad, things usually seem to work out in the end.

So happy birthday, Brian. By this time next year I better have your book in my hands and be eating homemade fettuccini with friends. Sometimes I take life and myself way too seriously. But today, just enjoy being 23, enjoy going to work doing something you love, and be grateful for all you have.

That sounds like a happy birthday, to me.