And I Know

Baby Sweet Tater was blonde

Another month got away from me. We’re moving into June and in 39 days I’ll turn 25. I’ve always considered 25 to be the best age, the age of young, independent adulthood. To be honest, I don’t really feel like what I thought a 25-year-old would be. Then again, I’m not quite there.

It’ll be a big year. It’s my first (but probably not last) career change, the beginning of grad school and my first move since I left home seven years ago. Sounds about right for 25.

If I overthink it though, I start to round up and countdown to as-of-yet nonexistent life occurrences. It goes something like this: “Hm, I’m 25 (-ish)… I’ll be pushing 28 when I’m done with school. Oh F! My parents had Ben when they were 27. And… AND they were married for, like, four years before that even happened. So now I’m, what… 32 and having my FIRST kid?? God, I might as well be 40, which, by the way, is just around the corner now…” And so on.

Good, so now I’m 40, jobless and primigravida (bam, medical terminology was not lost on me).

I know it doesn’t work like that. But just to make sure I don’t fret my way through what I’ve always assumed would be my favorite year of existence, here are some things I’m planning for 25:

I will make sacrifices now to avoid debt later and I know I’ll appreciate it one day.

I will recommit myself to the yoga practice I’ve abandoned (even if I can only afford to do it in my living room) and I know my mind and body will thank me.

I will make an effort to make new friends and reconnect with old ones and I know I’ll be a happier person for it.

I will not worry about things that haven’t happened yet and I know I’ll enjoy what’s happening now much more.

There’s a Brett Dennen song that I love and it’s pretty much my I’m-a-grown-up-now jam.

“I had to lay do my load. My burdens are my own…

It’s a life that I chose. My reasons are my own.

It’s a coming of age; when you feel it you know.

And I know.”