I can’t help but pat myself on the back for the timing of this one. It barely even crossed my mind that I’d be starting a new blog about being in my mid-twenties just as I’m about to turn 23. I know that 23 is still technically ‘early’ twenties, but who’s counting? (Me)
My 22nd year had started while I was living in a cockroach infested house, fresh off my first real breakup, and with all the optimism in the world. Next week, I’ll be starting my 23rd year. I’ll still have the same job, and hopefully the same optimism, but with a new apartment, new friends (you know who you are), a new degree, and new opportunities rushing at me from every corner. The optimism I held during my 22nd year was primarily survival based. I was out on my own, I was finally free, and for the first few months of that birth year, I was hanging on tight to happiness — any kind that I could find. For 23, I think I want to be more intentional with my happiness; pinpoint what it is exactly that keeps me optimistic. Off the top of my head, I want to read more, write more, and paint more. Maybe baking too, baking has always made me happy. Birthdays are happy occasions, and the goals I make for myself on that day for my year ahead tend to be happy as well.
I care about my birthday. Maybe not as much, or more, than other people, but I care enough to write about it at least. I’ve always liked my birthday, and not just because of the cake and presents, the parties and the nice messages online, but because I’m able to look at myself and see that I’m growing.
Ever since I was a really young kid, as my birthday was approaching, I spent more and more time examining myself; my arms to see if they’re longer, my breasts to see if they’re bigger, and trying to see my brain to check if I’ve gotten smarter. Now though, I spend more time looking at my empathy to see if I’ve gotten kinder, my goals to see if I’ve become more ambitious, and my relationships to see if I’m actually making progress. Some years I’m more successful in these examinations than others. Every year though, I find myself growing.
This year, as I watch my own eyes in the mirror, I look back to where I was a year ago. Living in a filthy and unsafe apartment, drinking a little too much, taking summer classes, and hanging around with people that could have been very dangerous to me (you also know who you are if you happen to read this). Today, I’m safe, happy, and healthy, I have passions and goals that are attainable, and I go beyond my own comfort zone every day. I’d call that growth.
Maybe 23 will be my year of rambling nonsense on this blog. Maybe it’ll be the start of my career. Maybe the start of something else. At the start of 22, I had no idea that I would be where I am at the end, so I’m not going to put too much pressure on 23. As I look at myself in the mirror, per my birthday tradition, I can see massive growth in myself, and I can’t wait to see what the end of 23 will look like.
Happy Growing!!!