Shit. I’ve been an actual functioning adult for ten years. A whole decade. How has this happened?
Yep, happy birthday to me! Today I turn twenty eight and I will likely be celebrating by window shopping and eating cake. So not dissimilar to a typical weekend really. But y’know, with the added sense of dread that I am getting older and one day I won’t understand the latest technology and will have to ask someone younger than me how to use my iPhone. But at least there will be PRESENTS!
Twenty eight doesn’t feel like a particularly standout age. Maybe that’s because I’m not dreading thirty just yet, but ask me again this time next year, eh?
Although it’s not a standout age, it feels like a reflective one. Thinking back to when I turned eighteen, that didn’t really feel like the big deal it should have been. I’d already been drinking, it was just legal now. Big woop. I don’t even remember what I did for my eighteenth birthday. Is that sad?
Over the past decade, I feel like I’ve changed completely. I’m no longer the lost lamb making mistakes that eventually cost me friendships. No longer someone that craves the next opportunity to go out and get drunk with those pals from yesteryear.
Now I’m someone who (most of the time) feels like they have their shit together. Who would sooner stay in and binge the latest Netflix show than go out and make the preparations for a hell of a hangover the next day. Maybe I’m boring now – but idgaf. I’m happy.
In many ways though, I don’t feel like these ten years have turned me in to a proper adult. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like that. I don’t want or have specific plans to work towards many things that proper adults want. Marriage. Kids. A mortgage. Blergh.
More and more I see my Facebook feed filling with engagements, marriages, babies, new homes. But yet my feelings don’t budge. I am happy for my friends, family and colleagues that are achieving what they want. But what do I want?
Really – I don’t know.
I wouldn’t mind packing my bags and upping sticks to a different country some time. But not because I hate where I am. But because really, if I set my mind to it, I could. I am in a perpetual state of possible. That is, of course, if we ignore my bank balance.
I hope that being twenty eight brings me a sense of encouragement – that push to try something. To turn that “happy with how it is” to “happy I tried something new”.
Twenty seven may have been the year I took one of my biggest risks by quitting my job and going freelance, but twenty eight is shaping up to be an amazing year of experiences already, with a Canadian ski adventure as the icing on the cake, so I’m confident it’s going to be a good one.