Growing Up And I’m Fine…

Growing up and i'm fine.

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…

I’m writing a book, don’t you know.

And those regrets?

Well, in all honesty, I don’t really enjoy going to parties or clubs or picnics.

And the risks?

The writing.

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..

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