Yesterday, I officially joined the big 2-5 club. Watching many of my friends reach this milestone over the last few years, I’ve been constantly dreading it for a while now.
I used to feel like I hit a “high” point some time ago— this conversation between a friend and me from when we turned 22 sums it up (obviously saved to Facebook for eternity):
21 was the last cool age to turn
16 you can drive
19 you can drink
20 you’re not a teen
22 who gives a f**k
But I was mostly wrong. Now we’re long past 22 and to be honest, not much has changed. In fact, some of my biggest life events to date have occured: I’ve had two amazing jobs, I’ve moved out of my parents’ house, I’ve left my hometown and have travelled a bit more; but inside I still feel more or less the same. It also helps that I still look 18, so at least I have something going for me!
You’re probably wondering: what did I do to celebrate this momentous occasion? Actually, nothing at all. I spent three hours waiting for the air vent cleaners to come service my boyfriend’s brother’s place, worked on a proposal, spent an hour watching wedding videos that made me tear up, made an easy pasta dinner to reheat later on and went to beach volleyball (where we lost, by the way).
I know many of you will be expecting some sort of big revelation or words of advice, but there is plenty of that all over the Internet. Today is my first full day of being 25, and I don’t want to waste another second sitting on the computer! I’m taking off for the next week to Christina Lake, where the only things I’m not looking forward to are the now unavoidable hangovers.