The last age that made sense to me was 21. Somewhere on the bar that night, I blew a kiss to the comfort that societal milestones had tucked me into.
Besides the fact that no one likes you when you’re 22, 21 felt like the pinnacle of meaningful milestones. My whole life had been centered around preparing for the next stepping stone towards entering adulthood.
Excitement was always on the horizon whether it be kindergarten graduation, passing my permit test, receiving my college acceptance in the mail, or having my first legal drink. So much to look forward to, and work towards, always. Until you’re 22.
There were no more school bells dictating my schedule. No more grades to gauge my success. No more college resume building/volunteer-work-with-an-agenda. No more upcoming prom proposals.
I was groomed to graduate. And graduate I did.
I was 21 when society stopped telling me what the next right thing was. As the glitter confetti and *slight* hangover settled, I felt the fear grip my gut. What did I have to look forward to now?
F R E E D O M? My childhood daydream looked like student loans and smelled like burnt bacon and mac n cheese. *Unfortunately, learn how to cook and budget weren't part of societies important grooming lessons.
L O V E? Maybe I could focus my re-definition of success and achievement on how quickly I could find my forever. The hawtest, richest guy. Yeah, guys could definitely become my new grading system, North Star, comparison metric.
W O R K? A career felt fun to pursue. As long as it changed at least every four years, and began with meeting all my fun co-workers and ended with parties, diplomas, and professional pictures. High school and college taught me huge successes can happen in four years flat. So, as long as adult years are the same, I can probably climb the ladder in 3.5, since homework is no longer a thing.
The truth? I am afraid of adulthood. Mainly because I am afraid of the mundane. Because societies structure helped me believe the mundane has no meaning. It's all about the milestones.
Today I turned 27 and I’m learning that I don’t have to be afraid of the in between spaces.
The space between the filler jobs and the full time careers. The Tinder dates and the forever person. The burnt bacon and the perfected pasta.
The successful settle into being, instead of achieving.
I’m beginning to understand 27, but it took 6 years, in adult years, to begin the celebration.
