My back hurts. I know how to fold a fitted sheet and cook a roast dinner. The first signs of wrinkles are appearing furtively on my forehead.
The ripe age of 25 is around the corner (tomorrow, to be exact), and for the first time in my life, I feel…. not young. I think it’s something about not being in the 18-24 age bracket anymore. I’m no longer fresh out of school, I’ve been “a real adult” (i.e. buying my own toilet paper and knowing what a “utility bill” is) for a few years already. When I Google “turning 25“ pages and pages come up of variations of 25 Things I Realised When I Turned 25, making me feel like I should be more wise and self-actualised than I actually am. In other words, the culmination of my early-20’s has caught me by surprise and I suddenly feel like I should have my shit together.
Am I doing this okay? This whole life thing? Should I be settled down in a terraced house in a distant borough of London, with a baby and two cats and a dishwasher, buying sensible underwear from Marks & Spencer and making regular appointments at the hairdresser? I see people my age with houses and promotions, polished and sophisticated sporting the perfect business-casual capsule wardrobe.
I guess I probably should. But instead, here I am cleaning up horse shit, my eyebrows wild beyond the point of taming, spending my afternoons whispering sweet nothings to my broccoli seedlings.
In fact, when I look back on my last few birthdays, I’ve always been doing something different. At 21, I was driving in a van around New Zealand with my best friend. We didn’t have phone service and I didn’t even realise it was my birthday until lunchtime. At 22, I was hiking in the Welsh countryside, recently graduated and making plans to move to Canada. At 23, I was a lift operator at a ski resort and spent my day snowboarding. Last year I was at the beach. And this year, I’m going to be riding horses at a secluded ranch on the shores of the Shuswap, reading books on bald eagles and tending to my garden.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, although I have some anxiety about getting older, who knows what’ll happen next year? I can bet my life at my 26th birthday will be different again, soooooo there’s no point in worrying about it now (and there’s definitely no point in comparing myself to other people). As long as I continue to ~follow my heart~ then all will be well. Or maybe I’m totally wrong and I’ll be soon banging on your door begging to sleep on your couch because my dream to be a writer completely bailed and I’m left with nothing except a reputation for poor personal hygiene and a mild distaste for wearing pencil skirts.
And, obviously, 25 is not that old. I am positively youthful in some ways. I succeeding in beating my debilitating cribbage addiction. I ate a nutella sandwich for breakfast very smugly this morning, although it was later followed by a heaping of dietary regret (note to self: you can’t eat sugar like you’re 16 anymore).
Anyway, short post because my poor elderly eyes hurt from looking at the screen. Remember pens, eh? And pencils? Kids these days. Don’t even know what they’re missing. Before I go, though, here is my customary list of 25 Things I Realised When I Turned 25.
- Horse poo doesn’t smell that bad once you get used to it
- Sensible underwear is underrated
- 9pm is a very acceptable time to go to bed
- It’s not rude to say “that’s none of your business”. Well, I guess it kind of is. But sometimes it’s necessary.
- Flossing is important
- So is sunscreen
- It’s okay if not everybody likes you
- Treating yourself to new socks is a fantastic use of expendable income
- Posture is also important
- Wetsuits are horrible to put on and I promise to never to that to my body again
- You should always deliver on your promises
- But also listing 25 things you know is harder than it looks and my supper is ready sooooo I’m dipping out — whatever it’s my birthday I can do what I want
Wanna get notified when I post new stuff? I’m 25 tomorrow so I’m very wise and you will maybe learn something (no promises).