So I’ve just realised that today mark’s eight months since I turned 22– which, of course, means that I only have four months until I’m 23.
Seriously, TWENTY THREE!
And the fact that this is causing me to break out in a cold sweat is worrying since I always thought the mental breakdown over my age would come on my 25th.
I dread to see what happens then…
But anyway, I’ll be 23. I remember when one of my friends turned 23 and we all laughed at him, being the naive 18 year olds that we were. Twenty three was old and by 23 you were expected to have a job, a life, on your way to getting engaged.
This guy was still living with his parents (and their bank accounts).
In all honesty it’s not like I’ve got anything to worry about. My entire life I’ve been ‘too old for my age’ and when I hit 20 I finally felt like I was where I was supposed to be. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life of coure but I felt like a 20something.
I’d wanted to be a 20 something since I stumbled across a blog using the term.
20somethings didn’t have the lack of independence that a child did, or the negative connotations that being a teenager held– no, a 20something could do what they wanted, when they wanted. We’re encouraged to make wild decisions, to go travelling and partying, to find yourself without the constraints of a family.
So why does it feel that that freedom is disappearing?
Even though I’m still a 20something, I’m starting to realise that it might only be the ‘early’ 20somethings who can do that. By early I mean those pre 25 year olds. The rest of us need to be settling down, having kids, getting a career and buying our first homes.
Considering my diet consists of supernoodles and take aways, I better do a helluva lot of growing up in the next two years!