Of quarter centuries...

I turn 25 on December 31st.

As of right now, I'm not quite sure how I feel about this. Let's explore.

There's this sort of amazing feeling about getting older- I feel like I've been "a kid" or "young" (with or without the preceding "too") most of my life. (Not just a feeling, but an actual fact.) I've been told that I'll understand "when I'm older" and that certain things "will come with time." I've had my opinions and ideas dismissed because of my age, and been on the receiving end of many eyerolls because I was "too young to understand."

Getting older solves this problem, slowly but surely.

There's also this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach about 25. The pit has been growing since my 23rd birthday. A slow, sucking sinkhole that flares when I think about things like time and mortality and wrinkles and how much I have left to do in life. It pulls a little bit when I think about how quickly time flies, how fleeting things are, how brief and elusive. I think about all my resolutions- not just those that are made around New Year's, but those that fall under the category of life goals. Things I want to do with my life, my love, my talent (my non-talent), my faith, my family, my friends. Places I want to see. Boxes I want to check.

When you're very young, your life stretches ahead of you like the ocean. You can't see the other side; it's not finite. It's this long, unbroken line of time that is all yours. You have so much of it. You have too much. You don't worry, there's no reason to.

But 25 brings about phrases like, "Quarter century." It brings a different age demographic button to highlight (no longer am I in the uber-cool 18-24 category). It means different things than 21. (I'm sure that's intentional.)

At 21, you get to drink (legally). It's all about the good times, about celebration, about wine and margaritas (separately) and fun and the flash of cameras.

At 25, it's about a break on your car insurance. Which is fabulous, but not in the same way as dancing-until-dawn-because-you're-finally-21 does.

I guess it's fair to say that I'm grappling with it. And it's okay.

It's also okay for people to roll their eyes at me- it's okay for my 51 year old mother to tell me to STFU (in a nice way, of course) because I'm having this discussion about being old and yet, I'm not old. Not in the true sense of old. Not in the Titanic-grandma way (points if you remember her name, I don't), which is the kind of old that is so terribly old that your eyelashes fall out and you have liver spots and collastomy bags and no brain-mouth filter to speak of (looking forward to that). Not that type of old.

But older.

So this is me documenting it. Writing it down. Maybe I'll read this (ha) when I'm 95 and I'll roll my eyes at myself. And probably, "STFU."

Either way, I suppose the exploration of the feelings and the stomach pit and the concept are good things.

Ta.
savvy