Countdown to the Quarter Life Crisis

11:56 AM

So, yesterday was July 1, which means it was 25 days until I turn 25. I meant to do this fabulous post, because 25 means quarterlife and that requires a dramatic crisis and I am all about a little drama.



But then I got tired. And reading in bed sounded so much more interesting than freaking out over a number.
Of years, just to clarify. Number of years. Yikes.

Anyway, I decided to jump on it today and post 24 days before my 25th birthday, because, no matter what, this is going to take some time getting used to. Mid-20's. Not early 20's, mid. Middle. Officially closer to 30 than 20. Well, not yet, but I'm teetering on the edge of a damn slippery slope and in 24 days, I will tip over and never climb my way back. And while I'm not usually one to put stock in an abstract number, it took me forever to get used to being in my 20's and remembering that I wasn't a teenager anymore. Mid-20's sounds so grown up, or at least did, when I was in my early 20's. When I met Ryan, he was 27, grown up and smokin' hot. I thought he was such a total adult. He paid bills and stuff. And rented his own house. Oh swoon.

Now, I'm looking over my shoulder, trying to gauge the looks of everyone around me as I mutter, 25 isn't grown up? Right? Right?!

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In real life, I actually intended to post some kind of snappy bucket list, like 25 things to do speedily before I turn 25. But then Kelsey invited me to go out for dinner and my friend James flew into Michigan and needed to be persuaded to extend his trip a tad further into Lansing, and day just got away with me. I didn't make a cleverly titled bucket list. Okay? I didn't.




But maybe that's life's little way of saying "chill, chickee." 25 is coming no matter what I do and I might as well enjoy what's left of 24. So I'll have dinner with my bestie. I'll walk my dogs. I'll watch fireworks on the beach. I'll shop with my Oma. I'll plan my wedding. I'll do all of these minor things because life is best when it's slow and easy, and haven't I already learned? -- it's the small things. It always is.

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I recently read this opinion -- getting married before 25 sounds a lot like leaving a party before 10 p.m. Well, incrimentally, it'll be like 10:15 p.m. when I leave the party, which is reminiscent of getting an extra five minutes before bedtime. It's kind of minimal, but it's kind of awesome. When I was little and my mom conceded to letting me stay up just five more minutes (pleeeease Mom? Puh-leeeeease?!) and then my little head would race. What should I do? What should I do? I could brush Barbie's hair, or arrange a quick domestic dispute between my stuffed animals, or if I'm super speedy, throw down the world's fastest tea party.

I hate to leave a party early, so thank God 25 is well on it's way.

Silver linings, folks. Silver linings.

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Speaking of silver linings, 25 is the year I'll get married to the man who still opens doors for me. 25 is the year I'll cease to have a name that rhymes and become a Mrs.



Also, the man who has never learned to smile at a flashing camera. 25 is already a big year and it's not even here yet.


And so, the countdown is on.



Oh, and as a reference, I like nail polish, ballerina shoes and all things glitter. I also like Swedish Fish. And tacos. And shoes.

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