I don't know about you, but I'm feeling like Taylor Swift ruined the number 22 for everyone forever.
Unless you currently live under a rock, you would've known that yesterday, August 3rd, was my 22nd birthday. (JK, I don't think I'm that important. JK, I do. JK, JK.)
I know that 22 will be better than 21, because 21 was a bit of a mess, TBH - and not because I spent most of it being drunk (I know you were thinking it). I had a ton of self-doubt and insecurity with 21, as well as a ton of self-discovery, introspection, and joy. It's cute to be 21, especially when you're 21 and still in college. Especially when you haven't graduated yet. Especially when you aren't forced to adult in the ~real world.
A lot of you probably know that I'm going back to school for a Master's. And as much as people may think that just staying in school is an easy out of adulthood, I will be the first to say that it is not, and I haven't even started yet!
Graduating and taking any type of next step is a big deal, and most of us aren't prepared for it. (Being pestered about what you're doing post-grad and current post-grads telling you how much it sucks isn't exactly supportive, now is it?) I've spent this summer working and preparing for what I hope to be the influential years that will lead me into what I am most passionate about. It's been rough, and kinda lonely. The summer's had me feeling pretty meh about my birthday, and about 22. But 22 is another year, of being alive and being well, even though I may not always feel that way. Although I have no idea what's going on with my life, I am positive of who I am and where I want things to go.
I would, one day, like to release my journal entries into the world, and expose the most vulnerable parts of myself, parts that may resonate with others' most vulnerable selves. For now, they're all too close to home. HOWEVER, I did want to share part of what I wrote the night before my birthday:
Everything is so temporary; inconsistent. I can't feel grounded in anything that I'm doing. I hate it...I don't like 22. I feel myself always doing the wrong thing and looking forward. Forward to when these moments will have seemed silly. Forward to when I'm consumed in joy, ecstasy. To be doing everything I want/am supposed to be doing. To be loved, to love so much that my heart could burst. To feel every second of life in its most beautiful state. To feel small, like it's all connected, all part of humanity, all part of existence.
I don't know if I'll make it to 23. We never know if we'll make it to tomorrow. I don't want 22 to be spent looking forward to 23 or 30. Because then I'll be 23 or 30 wishing desperately for 22. So for now, I'll take 22. Take these low moments, the uncertain ones. But I also want to take those "future" moments--connection, love, purpose. Even if they're fleeting, I'll welcome them with open arms.
'Til next time,