1. When people hear I’m turning 25, they like to joke about how a quarter of my life is already over. I’m not sure why it’s supposed to be funny—you’re literally joking about my death, people—but worse than that, it’s not even accurate.
I’m not the kind of person who likes to pretend I’m going to live to be 100. I don’t even like to pretend I know what’s coming for me in the next decade. Life has always been sort of an in-the-moment thing for me—I take it as it comes and try not to get too ahead of myself. I think that’s partially because there’s no real use to worrying about hypotheticals, but also because, at the end of the day, the big picture scares me.
If I could step out of my life and see it for everything that it has been and will be, would I like it? If I examined this sliver that’s already happened and compared it to everything I’ve always wanted it to be, would I still be happy? How many more 25-year increments will I have to live before it finally feels like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be?
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