I am going to be twenty-nine this year.
How do I feel about it?
I don’t know. Some days I’m okay with it. We’re supposed to get older. I know that. But part of me is anxious. I’m worried about getting older.
Why is that?
For one, I don’t feel as though I have accomplished enough in my twenties.
I imagined I’d be in a long term relationship. I’m not in one of those.
I thought I’d be in a job I liked, earning at least the average wage. I’m not doing that either.
I also thought I’d be further along in my writing career. Ummm.
And then there are the regrets…
I regret not going out more. To parties. Clubs. Picnics.
I regret not taking more risks.
Sometimes, I feel as though I have wasted a whole lot of time.
It’s true. I haven’t achieved everything that I wanted to achieve, but so what? What’s with the arbitrary time scale?
I am not in a long term relationship and that’s fine. It’ll happen if it’ll happen. In the meantime, I have goals that need pursuing…
And those regrets?
Well, in all honesty, I don’t really enjoy going to parties or clubs or picnics.
And the risks?
The thing is, I remember feeling old when I was seventeen. I was in my last year at school, and I felt old in comparison to all the younger students.
I felt old at twenty. I was no longer a teenager. I was leaving my childhood behind. Sob. Sob.
Then came twenty-one and twenty-five, and you know the score.
We’re always feeling old. I think it’s just one of those things.
Life’s a gas..