This peculiar milestone seems to just herald in the uncertainty of our twenties; It’s time to a have a life plan. It’s time to be a real person. Many twenty-two year olds have been members of the “real world” for quite some time, and the rest of us—myself most definitely included—would be well-served to remember.
Growing up, birthdays were anxiously anticipated as they were the window to change, or so I thought. Another year older, another grade higher— and hopefully another year wiser. Twenty-two is a bit young for a full-blown existential crisis. Twenty-two is more about a general sense of unease. What to do? What to become? What to be?
And so it begins. As excited as my 15 year old self was to hit 22, it honestly doesn't feel like there's much to write home about. While it’s admittedly a feigned distinction, 22 feels essentially distinct from 21. Twenty-two is like the on-ramp to the highway of true adulthood, all while still having heart eyes for the new generation Disney princesses.
It’s easy to fixate on my nostalgia for the past or worry about the future. I don’t want to think about how far I’ve come or how far I have to go. But instead, I want to spend my 22nd year finding the magic in the mundane. And next year, and the year after that and the year after that, I'm going to do the same. With all my determination and willpower, (watch me as I attempt to heave overthinking). I am going to participate in the reality of life and find the irony in it.
The adage that age is just a number rings true on being 22. I feel more certain at 22 then I did at 18 and that's a good thing; perhaps age breeds wisdom. Life has become more complicated but I'm learning to ride the waves.
I'm not the biggest Taylor Swift fan (neither of the dead or the new) and I actually can't go along the lyrics to her anthem 22, but I'm starting to get what the girl means.
Here's a nugget of genuine wisdom:
"We're happy free confused and lonely in the best way"
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