Twenty-Five and I Think I'm Getting the Hang of This

So I’m twenty-five today. Which feels both monumental and completely ordinary at the same time. Like, shouldn’t there be fanfare? A parade? At minimum, shouldn’t I feel like a real adult by now?

But here’s the thing – I actually do feel different than I did at twenty-one. Not in a dramatic, life-changing way, but in small, quiet ways that matter. At twenty-one I was constantly panicking about whether I was doing everything wrong, whether I was supposed to have it all figured out by now, whether everyone else had gotten some manual I missed. At twenty-five, I’m starting to realize that literally no one knows what they’re doing, and that’s actually kind of freeing.

Twenty-Five and I Think I’m Getting the Hang of This

Marcus surprised me with a little cake after dinner (homemade, because he’s perfect like that), and Sophie helped me blow out the candles. Three-year-old lung capacity is surprisingly helpful for birthday candles, it turns out. She made a wish too, which she informed me was for “more cake for Sophie,” so at least one of us has our priorities straight.

I don’t know what twenty-six will bring, but twenty-five feels like the year I stopped apologizing for not having everything figured out and started appreciating what I do have. Which, looking around my messy kitchen with my favorite people, turns out to be quite a lot.