Rory Levine: Quietly entering the world at age 21

Maybe it was the incessant rainy weather that washed out week after week of the Northeast's June and August and left me stuck in a small dorm room lacking a television, computer and Internet access.

Perhaps it was the onslaught of disappointingly bland movie sequels clogging Manhattan's multiplexes weekend after weekend, rarely worth the subway fare to the theater, let alone the steep $10 ticket price.

Or maybe it was just overall frustration with my challenging and unwelcoming summer internship, where I slaved away day after day for barely any appreciation, let alone a dime of salary.

Regardless of the reasons, by the time August finally rolled around, I found myself in an unexpected and puzzling position -- excitedly counting down to my upcoming 21st birthday.

Now, perhaps it's best to insert a note of explanation here: yes, there are actually people, even others besides middle-aged women fearfully dreading the big 4-0 or menopause, who don't like their birthday.

It's not the actual day that gets me down; heck, that particular day's no different than any of the 364 that follow it each year until it pops back up again like a rash. And really, it's not the actual significance of the day, because I've got no real problem being alive.

I'm just not one to celebrate myself much, especially when all I've technically done is get through another of the earth's orbits breathing; let's be frank, that's really all the birthday commemorates anyhow.

However, as I checked boxes off my calendar and that usually-dreaded day approached, I often found myself wondering what exactly it was that I found so exhilarating about turning 21. Indeed, in an age where kids are supposedly growing up faster and diving into the world of adulthood earlier and earlier, does 21 even matter? Or is it merely what its name suggests -- just one more year than 20, a weak remnant barely hanging onto the gaiety of finally breaking into your 20s, arguably the decade with the greatest life changes, and finally qualifying as a "hip twenty-something."

Many adults will argue that 21 is a major birthday, because of that famed purchase of alcohol piece. But let's be honest here: the vast majority of American teenagers, save those few specimens locked away in convents or rural religious cults, have tasted alcohol, if not regularly consumed it socially, by the time the clock strikes midnight on the dawning of the 21st year.

And that's not even touching cigarettes or drugs -- the former outlawed until 18, the latter without a specific age provision. With the widespread prevalence of fake IDs, all the easier with advances in personal computer technology, many will have been admitted to carding bars or have bought their own booze long before federal law dictates.

So really, besides the minor thrill in tossing out a cheap fake driver's license from a state you've never even traveled to, what's the big deal about finally getting to obey the law? In fact, wouldn't finally conforming to the law be an act of confinement, not freedom?

More than that, though, 21 just isn't what it used to be, back when our parents were hitting their prime. With the national economy still slumping, a greater number of college grads, even from the most prestigious schools, are slinking back home and taking menial jobs at the mall or heading in packs to graduate school, far from the acts of rebellion associated with this supposed wild age.

Nowadays, 21 doesn't even carry the same association of total adult responsibility that it used to, back when marriage and children were the norm for our grandparents in their early 20s. In fact, the huge advances in medical in-vitro fertilization and other pregnancy-enhancing procedures are allowing older women to bear children, even into their 50s.

Also, as more and more women enter the workforce in traditionally male-dominated industries, women are depending less on their husbands for financial support, allowing them to delay marriage until their 30s in order to establish themselves professionally first.

Combined, this is all leaving today's 21-year-old girls feeling less pressure to settle down in suburbia and lease that minivan, leaving 21 feeling more like an in-between stage than as any momentous accomplishment.

So then, how to explain the rush of excitement that flowed through my veins as I blew out those candles and started in on the cards from relatives? In the end, I believe it was the realization that no longer would my age ever be an issue, no longer could I be barred from adult conversations or concerts at venues with bars in the back, or restaurants at a certain hour. Simply, it wasn't so much the privileges that accompanied this entry into a new world, but the actual inclusion itself.

Sure, I was inheriting a world with more than its share of problems and challenges, many of which I didn't feel any more ready to tackle than the day before, but there was an undeniable amount of freedom that for whatever reason was now mine for the taking.

Then again, though, maybe there was a limit to the freedom: as far as I can drive my car -- I won't be able to rent a car until 25...

Rory Levine is a senior Communications major from West Nyack, N.Y.

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