I have never heard of a “birthday week” until my friend alerted me to the notion that I would be 21 in a short seven days. I never knew what a “golden birthday” was until another friend realized I was turning 21 on February 21. Typically birthdays just came and went for me, but I suddenly felt a huge responsibility to have the best one I possibly could, and I only had one last week to plan it. All the days before have to be suspenseful, and the day itself has to be golden.

I had been planning to turn 21 for a long time now, and yet I was so unprepared for all of the anxiety that was to be felt leading up to the moment when I would take my first legal drink. I am pretty sure everyone gets excited for the moment they enter a bar, hand over a license, and are legally allowed to accept alcohol. Then other people are supposed to be thrilled to buy said person their first few shots. Then that person is supposed to be the craziest he or she has ever been and have a night that outshines all that came before it, making it the best to remember.

All I could think is: “What if it doesn’t happen for me?”

What if my birthday just sucks and I have to save face so that everyone else thinks I am having the time of my life?

What if the bar is just filled with the same kids from my school that I could see on any given weekend, and I’m just breathing in the sweat of those kids in a more confined space?

Maybe I am not interested in all of the years ahead where I am going to be asked if I am actually 21 because I’m 4’11” and can pass for a middle school student. Or worse, for the times they don’t question it and I have to wonder what the hell kind of wrinkles I’ve gained over the first 20 years of my life… Then again, that’s an achievement for someone who gets weird stares from the students in a school of ninth-graders because they can’t decide if I’m supposed to be learning with them or teaching them.

Maybe I really don’t need the awkward moment where my parents offer me alcohol on the holidays and I have to pretend I’m not that into it, but end up belligerent by the end of the night because I secretly love Sangria and am so thankful that was their choice of poison for the evening. Though maybe I’ll stop being invited to awkward family dinners...

In fact, maybe I’ll kick back with some greasy townies and have some Smirnoff-induced deep conversations about the trivial lives we lead in a small suburban town. Maybe I will even find a guide in a 50-year-old man and have Holy Sundays at coin night with Bob, a construction worker in Collegeville, Pennsylvania. Who says I have to get elbowed in the face by the kid from my CIE class on the dance floor when there’s more established alcoholics just waiting for me by the T.V.?

Maybe 21 doesn’t have to be the most thrilling year of my life, but who says I only have one day to try?

So Birthday, I will see you soon — 12 o’clock sharp. Have a shot for the days ahead because I need some interesting stories to tell in my future.