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Yesterday, I read a horrific Huffington Post article.

I devoured each word, anticipating the upside of 23.
               But the article ended with a hopeless,
               “All we want is to understand who we are, and we can’t. 
                    Only time will tell us.”

                                  There is more to 23 than dismal uncertainty:


 Jobs we love, not jobs to support families.
 Roadtrips across country to visit friends for the weekend.

   We learn:
   To make our own choices.
   To ask questions.
   To shut up.

   To be gentle now, so we are not brittle in old age.

                                      
                                      As much as hangovers hurt,
                                      as much as Taylor Swift gets us,
                                      as uncertain as we may be, 
                                      23 is the blessing of freedom in disguise.