Last Wednesday I turned 25. I can’t pretend I’m not an adult anymore. For the first time in my life, I feel old. But at the same time, I don’t feel old at all.
I think that when I was younger, I thought that I’d have a lot more accomplished at 25. In reality, I haven’t accomplished much at all. Though it might be true that I’ve accomplished more than others my age.
I’ve finished college (a couple years ago). I’ve fallen in love. I’ve made a life for myself. I pay all my bills on time, if not early. I have a savings account. For the most part, I’m happy.
24 was a hard year for me. And I’m not sure if 25 will be worse or better. I lost my mother at 24, but she’ll never speak to me at 25. But at 25, my father and I are traveling to Europe on a great adventure, one that I’ve dreamed my whole life for.
I’m not who I thought I would be. But maybe I’ll never be who I thought I’d be. Maybe there’s a different plan for my life. And maybe I’m okay with that. So, here’s to 25, I guess.