It’s happened. I am, without a doubt, in my late twenties. In my ripe old age, I managed to go out for a filling dinner at Peter Luger’s before retiring to my apartment at a decent hour, with hardly enough energy (or stomach room) to choke back a funfetti cupcake. Yes, this is a typical evening in my twenty something life. Although normally, I have room for dessert.

My birthday, being so close to the middle of the calendar year, has always been a good check point to see what goals I’ve accomplished and evaluate my progress. This year, I can’t seem to remember the resolutions I ambitiously made just six short months ago. Each year seems to move faster than the last and I’m sure my handwritten goals are somewhere underneath a pile of last year’s Christmas cards.

In the spirit of productivity, I’ve made a new list of goals and hung it above my desk as a daunting reminder that I have work to do. In fact, I even found a brightly colored sticky pad with all the days of the week for smaller, more immediate “to-dos.” If that doesn’t keep me motivated, well, I’m sure I can think of something that will…

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