My dad wrote me an email the other day. It was October 31st and that is precisely my birthday. He titled it: 24! I swear to you that upon reading that number I immediately felt sick to my stomach. It shocked me. Both the number and my reaction to it. When did I become 24? How long ago did I graduate high school? What have I accomplished? Shouldn’t I be a wife, or a mother… or at the very least, a career woman? I am exactly one year away from being twenty-five years old and that is exactly one quarter of a century.
Cue my quarter-life crisis.
After reading the very sweet email and sheading a single tear at my silly little office desk, I felt less ill, and yet it got me thinking. Why is this so scary? I’ve accomplished things haven’t I? But I want to do so much MORE. I want to travel, I want to take pictures, I want to bake, and have babies. I want to bake for babies! I want to have my own business, I want to see the entire world. All of it.
I started making a list in my head of things I have done, to make me feel better about the things I have yet to do… it helped. I have done quite a bit, seen a lot, I’ve been educated in a field that I love and so what if I don’t have a career? I made the choice to travel and see as much as possible before I pinned myself down to one job. And it may be a while before I actually take that step. But I think I’m ok with that.
For now, I am living in Sydney, Australia with an incredible man that I met when I was traveling Canada. We have a cosy little apartment, two full time jobs, and a beautiful city at our fingertips. The world is my metaphorical oyster and I should stop analyzing the number of years I have been alive and instead start planning the next 75 (or so…). I have a lot to do. So I better get to it.
This post seemed to warrant it’s own space, so the next one is a recap of my birthday weekend. weee!