This is a weird age for me. I can remember being 12 years old and marveling at how grown-up 23 looked. My summer camp counselors, my small group leaders, my brother. They were all in their 20’s and had jobs and/or families. They were wise. They were mature. They were adults.
And now here I am.
And I’ve never felt more unsure about my life.
I guess I thought that my 20’s were going to be this miraculous time of careers and surefootedness. I was supposed to have a “real” job. I was supposed to have met my college sweetheart and be on my way to the white picket fence with 2.5 kids. I was supposed to be wise and worldly and well-traveled.
I thought a lot of things when I was 12.
Lately, I’ve been eating a lot of pb&js and watching a lot of Netflix.
Isn’t the naivety of being a child beautiful? If you’re lucky, you get to live in a world that is so comfy and soft, and you don’t have to face the harsh realities of life because they’re filtered through your parents. You get to have sleepovers with your friends and watch Saturday morning cartoons with a big bowl of sugary cereal perched precariously on your lap.
Now, I get to wake up 30 minutes earlier than I have to just so I can make some breakfast and drink coffee to get my brain functioning normally. And I have to spend my money on things like dish soap and light bulbs. I also spend a disproportionate amount of time considering the fact that I’ll be off my mom’s health insurance on my 26th birthday.
Can I have my quarter-life-crisis 2 years early?
Honestly though, I’ve very grateful to be where I am, and I know I’m doing okay. I have a job (I just got a promotion recently, too). I have a beautiful family. I have the best friends a girl could ask for. I’m dating the most perfect guy. I have a savings account. I have the means and the ability to pursue my hobbies. . . I can only hope I would make my younger self proud.
And I know I have a lot of great things in the works for this next year.
Here’s to 23 and another year full of the people and the things I love.