Day 262 | August 30

You opened your eyes today.
Or rather, your eyes were opened for you.
And when you looked around, when you examined the goings-on of your life, you realized that you don’t have a single thing to complain about. Not a single thing.

There are things you want, sure.
There are many ways you feel inadequate, yes.
There are pieces of you that will always feel, at least slightly, incomplete. Because the world is broken.

But today, they are inconsequential.
Today, you are content. And for the love of God, write this down.
Remember this. Take note. Open your eyes to it.

Today, you’ve realized that all of those things, all those hurts and snags and complications in plans, are all–in one way or another–a matter of waiting. An exercise in trust. Opportunities of faith.

And today, that doesn’t feel oppressive; it feels exciting. Like the day before a bigger day. A single moment before everything changes again—and le’s be honest: it’s fall. Change is coming, one way or another.

You’re realizing that this time—your twenty-fifth year—is not what you expected it to be. Twenty-five Is not what you intended it to be.
You wanted a wild adventure with fast cars and exotic trips and tattoos that archived the moments.
You wanted photos with blurred edges.
You wanted a story.

But you don’t get any of that. At least not yet. Not when you’re this close to it.
Instead, you are presented with your internal self.

____

Translation:
Twenty-five isn’t about translating life or documenting a buzzfeed list of survival tips for your quarter-of-a-life crisis. It’s putting a face and a name to yourself, if only for yourself.

Day 263 | September 1

Now listen.
Because this is important.
It’s worth another period here.
Pause.
Focus.
Twenty-five is not shrugging your shoulders when people ask who you are and what you want.
It’s not carving it in stone, no, but it isn’t shrugging.
Do not shrug. Stop shrugging.

Know what you want. Know who you are. And then put on your shoes.
And run. Run faster than the doctors say you should. Run without stretching first or warming up.
Run. Run. Run. Because you’re only twenty-five for a little while.

Acknowledge the significance of the future you think you want. The responsibilities. The relationships. The joys, the wants, and the needs that must first be reconciled in your own heart. Got it? Now destroy all of it and rebuild again with a foundation made to last. Because twenty-five is breaking down the walls of your heart, preparing it for a future that you hope includes kids, a husband, and a dog. One day you will have a dog! (You should be clear which of these builds on the others.)

Tearing down walls is hard, and a new concept, I know. So just think about that. All of it. Wrap your head around it if you can. At least pieces of it. And start sketching tattoos. Because the clock is ticking. December 12 is coming, and if there’s one thing on that list of yours that’s going to happen, that’s the one. Needle-phobia be damned.

____

Translation:

Twenty-five is opening your eyes. Open your eyes and look around. It’s smiling sometimes at the ways your life is not what you expected. It’s waiting. Preparing. Because there’s not a single doubt that you’re on the cusp. And you’re not going to want to miss this.

Also, it’s getting a tattoo. Stop stalling. It’s only going to hurt for a little while.

It all only hurts a little while.

***

Writer’s Note: This post is part of a larger series called “Learning Twenty-Five.”