April 23, 1994
I am trying to get used to this new jacket I was given: the year of 23. It seems a little big and roomy and it is not one that I have quickly clung to like I did the year of 22. 22 was a sparkly coat, fun and exciting with some swanky slacks to pair with it. Perhaps 22 was portrayed to be the “cool year” and Taylor Swift is to blame for it. My former 21-year-old self quickly embraced the twin digit number with open arms. But 23? 23 seems grown up, serious, has all its ducks in a row.