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As a certified bookworm, I sometimes find myself metaphorising aspects of my life in the familial terms of literature. For instance, when I think of the term ‘milestone’ I immediately imagine the creased corner of a book, folded for a later time. I tend to bookmark pages after a climactic scene or at the end of a chapter.
Anyone who has the self-restraint and resilience to bookmark a page during a climactic scene and then power on through their daily life are, I’ll just come right out and say, psychopaths.
I digress. A milestone in one’s life represents the reaching of a significant stage of life like turning 18 (relatable anecdote coming right up).
I just celebrated my 18th birthday. Who saw that coming?
It is an example of a universally agreed upon milestone. I had big helium balloons in the shape of a one and eight and even had a two tiered fondant cake with 18 candles. As you can tell, this was a moment of celebration, but honestly who cares?
In many countries, turning 18 means the opening of several new doors. A couple of the three D’s if you will include driving and inDependence. What? I tried.
However, what is the significance of it all? Why do we celebrate these ‘milestones’ more than the average day? What happens to those that don’t follow this traditional checklist, like those that don’t have children or don’t get married?
To be completely frank, milestones don’t have any meaning until we put meaning into it.
Every time I do something new, I can act like it’s a milestone. I begin university? Milestone! I eat at a restaurant without taking a picture of my food first? Milestone!
Seriously, rather than having the world dictate what is supposed to be important, make your choices and choose what is important to you.
Milestones can be every second if you really want; celebrating my trillionth breath of air - voila.