I turn 24 today.

I’d like to stay 23.

About a year ago, I visited Natalie (of TOD fame) in Oceanside, Calif. (That’s where she calls Home these days). We went to the San Diego Zoo where we watched flamingos and talked about life. And then we went to Cornado Island, where we went to the beach and we talked about… well, life. Specifically I remember two conversations. Only one is relevant to my topic here: my birthday.

Twenty-three was amazing, at least for her, Natalie said. I was in for a treat. She was excited to be a part of what would happen to me at 23. I’d be graduating from college, starting a “new life.”

We perused the gift shops at the Hotel Del Coronado, and Natalie tried on a big, black, floppy beach hat. (She tried on a similar hat at a different store when I was in Oceanside a couple of months ago. It seems she hasn’t found the perfect big, black, floppy beach hat yet.) I eyed a book of poems about birds. We chatted about life some more.

A few weeks after I had visited Natalie, I received a birthday package in the mail. It turns out Natalie was the only gift-sending friend to whom I had neglected to tell a very important piece of information: I had canceled my 23rd birthday. I was excited to be 23, yes. But I was not ready or excited to celebrate a birthday.

My birthday experiences had not been wonderful in the past, so I was skipping all that. I’d be 22 one day, 23 the next. That was all. No fanfare, no pomp. No circumstance.

Then came Natalie’s present: the book of bird poems from the Hotel Del. With the book, Natalie included a card. She reiterated what she had said at the zoo and at the beach. She told me she believed in me. And that she knew I’d have a wonderful 23. She said she was glad we were friends.

With that tiny package — a manila envelope, folded over and taped for security — my avoidance of my birthday was impossible. I cried (in more than one go) and thought, and mediated and thought some more. My conclusions included (heh) the following:

1. I have wonderful friends.

I was grateful then (and am grateful now) that I had friends who respected my need to ignore my birthday in 2008. I was also glad to have Natalie — a friend who wasn’t informed of the birthday hiatus who felt a book of poems (really, a book with reminders of our friendship and our discussions at the zoo) and a reminder that 23 would be great was a necessity. (It turns out, she was right… about at least two things. First, that the birthday recognition was important. Secondly, that 23 would be my best year yet.)

2. I was a woman.

Twenty-three is a weird age. For me, it was strange to be in college but ready to be an adult. I had just taken on puppy raising — being the guardian of a future service dog. I was making decisions based on the needs of something other than myself. That was new for me, and it forced me to grow up.

Socially, I was an adult, too. I was ready to evaluate the relationships in my life and choose to pour time into those that were mutually beneficial and to end those that just weren’t working anymore. This was a painful process, one I sometimes find myself reevaluating even now, but one that I needed to complete to be fully myself.

3. Twenty-three need to be be “dude-free” so I could find myself, define myself and love myself.

This turned out to be an excellent — if flawed — plan. I spent my last few months of college free to flirt, explore relationships and dream about life outside of Kansas, because I chose not to be available. I was single, yes, but far from interested in changing that status. I learned how to turn down requests for my number (that sounds like I was being asked all the time… and, surprisingly, I was. For the first time in my life, men wanted to know how to get in touch with me… just as I had decided they didn’t have a chance.) I also learned how to flirt… how to let a conversation be a good time, and just a good time. There were no strings, no commitments and, absolutely, no second dates.

So here I am, one year after my birthday-free change of age and Natalie’s prophesy has come true: 23 has been my best year yet. I still have great friends; I still feel like an adult. I’m now a Californian… a two-hour time change or 24-hour drive from everything I grew up with. I am a mom — albeit to a puppy, not a person. And I am happy. So happy I’m not sure what to do with it sometimes.

As for the dude-free year… well… that’s another story.

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