24 is weird.
10 years ago I thought by now I would have it all figured out.
Maybe I would be married and have a couple kids of my own.
Obviously I would be fabulous and flawless.
–Cue me walking in slow motion out of my mansion into my BMW.
All the acne would be gone and men would revel over me (duh).
So what do I actually have?
I have a divorce decree (see previous posts), adult acne, and the 20-year-old cashier at Chipotle asked me to add him on Snapchat.
I also am a crazy cat-lady who would rather stay at home with a mint face mask on and lay with the kitties than go to an EDM rave.
Nearly everyone I know from high school has one, sometimes multiple, children while I rewarded myself for making my lunch two consecutive days in a row.
Come on, you can’t be doing that bad.
I know I’m not.
I pay all of my own bills, I just got my first “real” job, I am a college graduate, I write (duh), I have a wonderful support system of great new friends and family.
On paper, I achieved some of those goals that I made for myself when I was just an awkward emo kid.
But there is such a division at this age.
Some of us are driving to our parent’s houses to do laundry, and some of us are clocking in at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow.
It’s a struggle to be “grown-up” while feeling you don’t have even the slightest grasp on this world.
I don’t have to preach about the expectations of this world. We all know it isn’t a walk in the park.
At any given moment there is, what feels like truck-loads, of worries going through my mind.
Debt. Anxiety. Bills. Flaws. Work. Rude lady at the store today. Will my pores ever be smaller..etc.
–Sorry, literally had to stop writing to fight with my roommate.
—Points are being proven in real-time.
Why am I like this?
I feel as if I am waiting for the day when those thoughts will quiet down.
Maybe if I really “have it all together” I could breathe a little easier.
Is it possible?
Will I ever stop breaking a sweat when I realize I am going to be 25 this year?
Will I ever be able to do my taxes without calling my father?
Will I ever start getting gas before the gas light comes on?
–Dad, don’t read that last one.
By the time I accept that I am doing the best I can at 24, I will be 25 and writing another one of these in a different full-blown panic.
Is everyone else as weird as I am?