I’m 25. I would say I’m proud of my age – but let’s get real. There’s nothing to be “proud” of unless you want to count the fact that I made it a quarter-century without losing any fingers, toes, or (too many) brain cells. 25 is a number, not a bragging right. And, 25 is NOTHING what I thought it would be.
If you asked me at 14 what I thought my life would be like in my mid-twenties, I can assure you NONE of my answers included “furiously typing a blog post while half-assedly monitoring an open book/open note exam for a 50-year-old professor who’s too busy partying in Havasu to be here right now.” (Ps. Where were these exams when I was in college? Pps. Do I even need to be here? Ppps. Why was “college” so many years ago? Pppps. Tears.)
I always thought that at 25, I would be estatically married to a (bleached fro-ed) JT look-a-like with 2.5 kids, a pool, 3 cars, and 4 dogs. Oh and I’d also be a wildly successful Marketing exec, because why wouldn’t I have time for a budding career AND a growing family??? I imagined that I’d be wise, learned, and just an all-around veteran of the game; not so silently pointing and laughing at those younger than me while basking in the joy of my perfect life in Barbie’s Malibu dream house.
Guess what? Not anywhere close to marriage, a mortgage, or a baby. But gimme those dogs pleaseandthankyou. Not an executive-level anything, unless you count my elite status as a sarcastic bitch-bucket. I’m not even working in a career remotely dependent on my Bachelor’s degree. Plus, I’m 89% certain that I know less about the world at 25 than I did at age 8. Benjamin Button, I think I am your sister. Like my formerly-imagined counterpoint, however, I do stay home on the weekends. Although, I have none of the 2.5 kids to blame it on. What’s UP 25! Can I be your postergirl?
I think that just goes to show me what expectations and perceptions can do to a person. Aka try and completely fuck me over. That whole quote about “What really messes us up in life is the picture in our head of how it’s supposed to be”..?? Yeah, preach on, sister. I could let my current situation get me down. I could. Shit, some days I do. This is not how I imagined life going. But, I’d honestly be lying if I told you I’m sad. I love that the most exciting part of my day often consists of frenching my dog on the mouth (most likely 8.7 minutes after he got done frenching his own butthole). I’m enjoying my “career” .. even if I insist on using quotation marks when I call it that and plan on leaving this particular gig in the next 6 months. I like that on days I want to get real real crazy, I put one of my many grey-on-grey-on-grey leisure suit combos and drive up to one of my best friend’s houses to play “Can I Put This In My Mouth” with her 7-month-old while drinking wine and watching reality TV. Maybe I’m just easy to please? If so, maybe I’m better off for it.
I will tell you that these 25 years (well, really just mainly the last 5-7) have taught me patience. And humility. And forgiveness. And grace. And faith in the “system.” And that a good sense of humor might not win you the battle, but will ultimately win you the war. They taught me to cut myself some slack. To carpe the fucking diem. Or, on the opposite hand, to just lay in bed until 2pm because WHY NOT and BECAUSE YOU CAN. That stress is useless, although seemingly unavoidable. That food is good and wine is better. And, definitely most importantly, it taught me that if you want to say a repeated “screw you” to age-old English grammar rules that have been shoved down your throat since 1st grade, start a blog… because no one gives an eighth of a shit if you choose to start 38 sentences with “And.”