It was pure coincidence that today’s entry is twenty-six days before my birthday. It is rather good timing because last year, I wrote a brief reflection about turning twenty-five. I learned that no one has their shit together, and it is totally okay.
Being twenty-five is a strange age because most of the time I feel like an adult, but have childish behavior tendencies. When I tell people my age, some say, “Oh, you are still young. You have time.” Then other times, I get, “Well, you are not that young.”
It is such a confusing stage of adulthood, I think. I remember my argument was – I cannot say I am a post-grad because that was a long time ago, but I don’t quite feel like an adult. So what the fuck am I? Denial at its finest.
We always think we know who we are and what we want – and I’ve been told it becomes fluid as we continue to explore ourselves and age.
But in my last full weeks of being twenty-five, I never have felt more like an adult and grasping my sense of self. It feels damn good to know what you want and go after it – whether it is a dream job, a man, or an apartment. I feel secured and this feeling radiates confidence.
Feeling good, living better.