Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 25. So begins my quarter-life crisis.
When I was a kid, I thought time moved so slowly. In school, I thought I’d never make it to Thanksgiving, to Christmas, and summer felt like a dream that wouldn’t come true. Graduation was another lifetime away…
And now I’m twenty-five suffering from whiplash after time hooked its claws into me and jerked me here.
People have said, “Life is short.” I have an understanding of that. You blink and suddenly you’re an adult with so many expectations placed upon you–many of them your own. If I had an image to represent me in my twenties, it’d be a girl running around a room covering her own eyes and bumping repeatedly into everything. And screaming. Lots of screaming. And you’d think all she has to do to navigate smoothly is take her hands away from her eyes, but she thinks that’s more complicated of a move than it really is. It’s simple, girl. Put your hands down! But she doesn’t. I guess she’s too panicked.
But that’s not my life in its entirety. A lot of the time it’s like I’m lounging in a hammock with a good book in one hand and a refreshing drink in the other. I’m not all chaos and confusion. Some things are so clear, so wonderful. I am blessed with this present of a life.
It’s just certain areas in my life that I’m slamming into corners and furniture.
I want to make twenty-five the best year yet.
And then twenty-six can be the best year ever.
And then twenty-seven will overshadow it with its awesomeness.
On and on and on, because life is always moving forward, and things are always growing, and I’m pretty sure happiness works the same way.
So happy birthday to me (from yesterday). Life rocks. And I’m a very lucky (but easily confused and lost) woman!