I’m twenty-eight today.

According to my old folklore professor, this is when people really come of age in modern society. Major social life changes, she says, happen in seven year cycles. Today, I am a man.

I’ve never been very good with “important birthdays.” My 18th birthday was arguably the worst day of my life. I was jet-lagged and almost completely slept through my 21st birthday. I can count at least four birthdays spent on airplanes. I had hoped to do better today, to mark it in some meaningful way, but so far, there is nothing dramatic, only more of the same. It doesn’t feel any different from yesterday or the day before. Arise, make coffee, come to work.

Perhaps there is a hidden lesson in this.

When I was in college, twenty-eight was the age I’d expected to finish my Doctorate, to finally be set and stable. As today has drawn closer and closer, a lot of questions have arisen in my mind, most of them not remarkably pleasant. Questions about goals and purpose, ability and expectations, and of identity. Every day brings more questions and fewer answers.

And now I have arrived at a point of no arrival, I am crossing a threshold that does not exist. Like any good liminal state, I am confused, humbled, and unsure. My assumptions, even those about myself, are apparently no longer valid. I am confronted with the prospect of creating them anew.

I’m twenty-eight today.