turning 25: limbo years old

28 November 2016

This week I turn 25. Mid-twenties. Halfway through my decade of exploration, experimentation, and enjoyment. Or at least that's what I'm told it should be!

Some of my school friends are getting married. Some are having babies. Some have already knitted together their family units for life. And I sit here, sometimes feeling more childlike than ever. Like a fraud of an adult, forever on the cusp of teenage cautionlessness. Staying out and sleeping in. Panicking. Prioritising stupid things. Residing in this urban cocoon, growing my wings.

There are still so many things I have yet to learn. There are still so many things I wish to see. I dream of sailing away for forever and a day. Yet, sometimes I feel like I'd love nothing more than to curl up with you and the dog inside a precious terraced cottage. Somewhere where smoke billows out the chimney, you cook, and I write. And we plod along, happily.

We've got time, I remind myself. I look away from the lives of others, and go with my gut.

Twentyfive, alive and thriving - that's all we need to remember.

Everything will be absolutely fine.


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