Friday, May 8, 2015
I rang in my 24th year just about the same way I spent the actual day I was born: by sleeping 70% of the day and eating throughout the remaining 30%. I have some really great friends who threw me not one, but TWO birthday celebrations, and the next day was spent shopping with myself, for myself. I justified my excessive spending all because 24 years ago I passively let myself be born while my mom did all the work. Obviously that warrants a new outfit, right? Right.
Overall, turning 24: 10/10, would recommend.
However, I'd be lying if I said this birthday came without a tinge of sadness. Dread, even. A sense of betrayal to my 14-year-old self who was really banking on this past decade to get it all figured out. In a lot of ways, I feel like I've accomplished nothing but let that girl down.
The truth is, my life at 24 is nothing like how I had imagined it would be. I have this very specific memory of being 14-years-old and envisioning my life ten years into the future: I would be married; I would have the career I always wanted; I would have more than I do and be more than I am, and most of all, I wouldn't be scared.
At 14, the only thing I really wanted was security. At 24, I have learned enough about the unpredictability of life to understand that true security, for the most part, does not exist.
But in the past decade, I've learned that what does exist is faith--faith in God, and faith in yourself, and faith in the fact that despite all your meticulously crafted plans, you are part of something bigger. I might venture to say, you are part of something even better.
So yes, it's true. I am a failure to my 14-year-old counterpart. But for the 24-year-old me, I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. And I think that's something to celebrate.