OH THE WOES OF YOUR MID TWENTIES.

no. 3

The past few years have been filled with telling myself I am the main character in the hopes that I would believe it at least 50% of the time and act accordingly. Newsflash! It works! While still practicing empathy—okay bri we get it, you’re not a monster—I’ve been able to build a reality around myself rather than fitting into one I once thought I belonged in. Many days have been spent clomping down the street knowing that whatever is thrown my way will work out for me. At least 50% of the time! Maybe more! This also feeds into how I take in the world around me: movies, books, conversations I may or may not like to eavesdrop on. I can see myself in the characters like it’s second nature. Which in hindsight has probably caused a few moments of anxiety (mostly on the eavesdropping front).

I turned 26 recently.

For some reason (society hates women!) there is now a stigma that 25 is the prime of life.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

So basically I’m over the hill. Past my prime! But my birthday passed and I didn’t think too much about it. Fast forward: today, yet another rom-com book found its way into my clutches, and I was enjoying it quite a bit! That is, until it was revealed that both protagonists are 21…It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be to separate that fact from the romance I was ready to experience through these characters. I can’t stop thinking about who I was five years ago and comparing the scenarios in this book with my own. FIVE WHOLE YEARS. Yeah, yeah, comparison is the thief of joy and all that but sometimes you can’t help it! Needless to say, I had to put the book down for a minute and contemplate my existence. Firstly, why does this bother me so much? Is it really just the age or is it that I can see this is going to tee up to some Great Love happening at that age…hmm now that I type it out…probably the latter. I fixate an unhealthy amount about how romance shows up in my life, even though I would probably not admit it out loud. There has been such fulfilling love around me thanks to friends and family and one singular boyfriend (we don’t speak of the other), so why do I torture myself in thinking that there is something more I’m missing out on?

I know the short answer: there isn’t anything more.

Sure there are milestones I haven’t hit, but I am the one who sets those. If I sit into the experiences and the love and the companionship around me right at this very moment, then that will be monumental enough. Light bulb. Perhaps that can be something I set for myself, a milestone reached each day I end feeling content to be alive. The other day I was watching TV with a friend, yelling at the screen and giggling at our jokes and eating cookies in bed; afterwards I found myself unable to contain my smile. This is what I would consider a milestone well reached. Now, setting a goal might make me paranoid about forcing such interactions with loved ones—a Capricorn is going to Capricorn OKAY—so I will strive to stay present. To take in this world in all its beauty. And to not judge myself in the process.

Part of this wise old age I am coming to is not only understanding that nothing has a set timeline, but accepting it. And that my age does not define every aspect of me. Perhaps my knees and the muscles in my body and the hair on my head will change as I grow older, but while love and empathy and curiosity and groundedness live at the forefront of this noggin, there is nothing to stop me from feeling like the main character that I am.

✧