I am almost a quarter of a century. A shocker, I know.
Despite my seemingly carefree attitude and youthful looks (stranding me in the appearance of adolescence), I have come to realize that turning 25 seems to raise a bar of expectations.
Gone are the student days of sleeping in, working part-time, student discounts, months of vacation, and having mom send cheese home after family visits. People actually expect you to work all week and pay full price for EVERYTHING (which I guess means I won't be renewing my annual membership at the aquarium).
But even more stressful than realizing that I won't have such amazing student options, is the overwhelming sense of needing to make decisions. Getting older = choices (most often confusing ones). That does not sit well with me. I think maybe this stress comes from my rank in the birth order. Being the youngest, I usually followed one or both of my older sisters around, believing that at least one of them knew what was going on.
My hesitations begin every morning as I debate between eating cereal or eggs for breakfast. I love music, but instead of sticking to piano, I have taken on guitar, drums and have even dusted off my old recorder on occasion. It took me four years to decide what my major in school should be and I still don't know how it will help me find a job. I spend months every year growing my hair out because I always want long hair, but just before it reaches the length I've been waiting for, I chop it off cause I think I might have liked it better short.
Needless to say, one thing that has never stressed me out, one thing that has never confused me (other than my faith and love for Jesus Christ), is my passion to write. I may be getting older, and I may feel like I know less about my future everyday, but at least I can write it down. After all I am not yet in a mid-life crises, I am only entering my mid-twenties. And aren't those supposed to be the golden years? And there is always so much to talk about....
