With September, comes fall, and the realization that my birthday is a mere month away. A month. And this isn’t just any old silly birthday. This year is the year I turn 25. TWENTY FIVE!
Here’s the thing, ten years ago, had I thought about how life would look at twenty-five, I probably would have had some dreamy romantic tale. Even five years ago, I imagined life at twenty-five would be very different. Not to show how naive I was, but I honestly believed by the time I reached twenty five I would be engaged, if not married. I imagined I would be doing something to do with writing (vague, I know) and that I would be an adult. But the reality? I’m single as ever (and, maybe I add, loving it), working retail while trying to figure out how exactly to accomplish my dreams, and partying on weekends like I’m sixteen again. And you know what? I couldn’t be happier.
Here’s the thing, every year I sit back and think: this is the year I do this, this and this. And every year, when I haven’t checked those things off my invisible list, I feel bad about myself, like I am just a big fat failure. But you know what, I think for this birthday, I’m going to do something a little different. Sure, I could go on and on and on about the things I want to do, or see. Or, instead, I could just live life, no expectations, no planned stops. Life shouldn’t be about planning, or expectations. It should be about living every day to the fullest. Instead of fretting when things don’t go as “planned”, brush it off, and take another road. Maybe it won’t be perfect, but who wants perfect anyways? Perfect is boring. The flaws of life are definitely more exciting.
And they tell one hell of a better story.