The sun sets over the Riggin Barn on E. Riggin Road in Muncie, Ind., after severe thunderstorms inundated the area, Sunday, November 17, 2013. The outbreak of unseasonable thunderstorms spawned several tornados throughout the state of Indiana, including one in nearby Kokomo.

On the eve of my birthday (or “Guy Eve” as the day has become colloquially known in my inner circles), my mother was kind enough to bake me a birthday cake (a day early, since I’ll be spending my actual birthday jetting across the country for lighting work). The finished cake, sitting proudly on the kitchen table, was topped with two candles in the shape of a three and two. 3-2. Thirty-two.

While I knew that those waxy numerals weren’t telling any fibs, my gut reaction was to question the sum they’d derived. “Thirty-two? Me? That’s, like, some adult’s age!” Indeed, reality is a tough pill to swallow. Aside from having legal documents to confirm my age on paper, I’m also realizing my philosophical ideals and beliefs are lining right up with full blown adulthood.

Our consumption-centered society makes me cringe, people killing each other over tennis shoes leaves me feeling ashamed to be a human, and inventions like Google Glass