1. When people discover I’m turning 25, they like to joke about how a one-quarter of my life is already over. I’m not sure why it’s supposed to be funny–you’re literally joking about my death, people–but worse than that, it’s not even accurate.
I’m not the kind of person who likes to pretend I’m going to live to be 100. I don’t even like to pretend I know what’s coming for me in the coming decade. Life has always been sort of an in-the-moment thing for me–I take it as it comes and try not to get too ahead of myself. I think that’s partly because there’s no real use to worrying about hypotheticals, but also because, at the end of the day, the big picture scares me.
If I could step out of my life and see it for everything that it has been and will be, would I like it? If I examined this sliver that’s already happened and compared it to everything I’ve ever wishes to be, would I still be happy? How many more 25 -year increments will I have to live before it finally feels like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be?
2. At 25, Lawrence Bragg won the Nobel Prize. Orson Welles generated. Janis Joplin obliged over a million dollars on her first preserve. Charles Lindbergh became the first person to fly across the Atlantic alone. I predict I always thought that by 25, I would have done something big, too.
3. The authorities have hundreds of registers online about what you should have accomplished by 25, or what you should have stopped doing by 25, or what your life needs to look like by 25. I call bullshit on most of it. I think we have an bothering wont of placing subjective timelines and trying to force them on beings, then ogling down on anyone who can’t prepare them fit. At the end of the working day, why do we care so much if someone has traveled internationally or if they know how to properly roast a chicken or if they save a percentage of their paycheck per year? Why are we so sure that our room is the right way?
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I used to care a lot about affecting all those check marks on all those other people’s rolls, but at a certain point I recognized nothing of it actually mattered. I’ve got my own lists now.
4. I once had a 40 -something professor who said he’d never time a woman over 25. Maybe that’s why this year feels like such an expiration date.
5. Most experts guess the psyche is fully developed by the age of 25. Which means that for most 25 -year-olds, the personality is pretty much set. Which means that who I am now is be who I am going to be for the rest of my life, at least to a limited extent. I can’t decide if that actualization is comforting or terrifying. Sure, alter is spending, but something about stability scares me.
On the bright side, I can’t imagine another form of myself I’d preferably be. Of the thousands of parties I’ve been, I’ve exclusively been proud of a few. For the first time in a long time, I reckon I like who I am.
6. If I’m being totally honest, 25 is the first year of my life that may seem like real adulthood. I now find myself in a strange conundrum where I’m too old to get away with the same stupid shit I used to but still somehow too young to really be taken seriously. I no longer get tattoos on a caprice or move across the world at a moment’s notice or follow strangers into the seedy basements of secret teams, but it’s still so easy for beings to laugh off my hypothesis, my aspirations, my view. Someone will tell me I’m an old feeling, then say I’m not age-old enough to understand what that represents in the same breath. “You’ll get it someday, ” they tell me.
I’m not going to pretend like I know everything. I’m not going to pretend like I don’t have a lot left to learn. I’m perfectly comfy with the relevant recommendations that I’m still changing. But I also think it’s merely easy for parties to use my age to dismiss me when they don’t like what I have to say. How age-old do I have to be before they recognize that this is just who I am?
7. I can lease a vehicle now. That’s cool, I approximate?
8. I never actually imagined I’d turn 25. And it’s not because I expected something horrible to happen to me or anything, but I think sometimes I get so caught up in the moment that I have a hard time grasping the idea of era. When I was in kindergarten, I couldn’t imagine firstly pointed. And when I enrolled high school at 14, I couldn’t imagine graduating at 18. Twenty-five always felt like this hypothetical future, a purpose, the answer to, “Where do you see yourself in five years? ” It was never something I absolutely felt I could be.
But 25 is here, and I sort of feel blindsided, even though I could ever see it sneaking up in my peripheries. It establishes me think about all those other hypotheticals, how far away they seem now, and how, in the grand scheme of things, they genuinely aren’t far away at all.
9. By 25, I was supposed to be married. I was supposed to have two children. I are presumed to own a live. I was supposed to have published a book. I was supposed to have gotten a master’s degree, extremely, was supposed to become a lawyer or a therapist or maybe an anthropologist. Then again, I decided all of that when I was 10. Things have changed a lot since then.
10. Sometimes I was just wondering if, after a certain point, age makes anything at all. I have a 26 -year-old friend who seems decades wiser and an 86 -year-old grandmother who still blasphemes she’s 18. And then there’s me. I don’t truly feel young or old-time. Maybe I simply descend somewhere in between.
But I guess that’s the elegance of get older–no one gets to tell you who you have to be. At the end of the day, I am what I am, and no numeral gets to define what that entails.
Read more: thoughtcatalog.com