When Debauchery Became Legal

I turned 21 last week. I can gamble, drink, and create memorable nights I won't ever remember (probably for good reason). But now, after the initial excitement of being a legal alcoholic, I just feel old, sleepy, and in want of an old Disney movie.

In the last 5 or 6 years, I have experienced a slow liberation from legal enslavement. When I turned 17, all I wanted to do was drive (I failed my test and started driving one year late); when I turned 18, all I wanted to do was vote (I didn't register till I was 19); when I turned 19, all I wanted to do was buy cigarettes (I don't smoke). When I turned 21, I felt as though a great weight had been lifted: no more dressing older, no more passing back IDs, no more overly-priced cover charges for being under 21.

No more fear.

But it is this fear that keeps us young, that keeps our hearts racing, that keeps us alive. I was afraid to turn 20, to leave the decade that allowed me to make mistakes and eat burritos for breakfast with no effect. But 21 may be worse. It is too easy. There is nothing to chase. There is nothing to remark. There is nothing extraordinary about a legal adult paying $1 to see a concert in Webster Hall when all her friends paid $20, or about a legal adult dancing on furniture with her underage best friends. In fact, debauchery becomes debauchery when you turn 21. Before that, it is all fun and games.

Now, I am just awaiting my 25th, when I will finally be able to legally rent a car in Jersey (which I won't drive).