i have less than three weeks left in my twenties. and, confession? i’m terrified. when i voice this concern out loud i am ninety nine percent of the time greeted with the words “oh you’re still so young,” or “thirty is nothing,” and as right as that may be, it’s how i feel. (and why, i wonder, does society have such a way of minimizing and trivializing another person’s worries? why do we do that?)
i don’t feel old, nor do i feel particularly young. in so many ways i’m still that young girl furiously scribbling down her overwhelming number of thoughts into her journal, the one who needs to create something, anything, on a daily basis.and then there is the side of me that i struggle with: the “i-don’t-quite-feel-like-an-adult” version of myself. and thirty is it, i mean, you’re an adult whether you like it or not. so all those ideas i had about what i would be doing by now, all that i would have done, and all that i was headed towards? they’re just that now: ideas. ideas that didn’t come to fruition. and there’s something so depressing about that.
thirty. it always seemed so far away, yet here it is, just around the corner. and i’m not ready. i’m not even close. truth is: i’ve always been one of those people who seem to constantly be wishing time away for one reason or another, but this birthday? as far as i’m concerned it can never come around and i’d be perfectly happy with that. i’d stay in this sleep-deprived, fussy baby, limbo stage forever if it meant staying in my twenties.
if only, right?
only three weeks left.xo,