It’s a curious age, this twenty five.
You see, I thought by now I’d have it figured out. I’d know what I wanted and what the future would bring and along with that, somewhere along the way, my soul would have stuck its feet out every now and then in an attempt to settle…and by the time we landed, by the time it drug me to a halt, we’d be there. Stopped. Settled…me and my soul and all that it needed, together.
My soul is flying.
There’s no auto-pilot here and I’m starting to wonder what I’m doing and where I’m going because in all my dreams and all my expectations the path was smooth and straight and direct.
And I want to put my feet down.
I’m not sure.
I continue to search for what it is I am supposed to want simply because I don’t know what it is. I know I want to succeed. To be good at being the best me that I can possibly become. And maybe that’s enough. It should be, right?
I thought that with age the decisions were supposed to be clearer; relationships got easier; hearts broke less easily and feelings were stronger, more resilient. But this isn’t what I have found. This hasn’t come with age in my world. In fact, I am finding much the opposite to be true. My heart breaks daily, I second guess every decision, relationships are work. Hard, hard work.
It’s curious, this twenty fifth year. It’s nothing I’ve expected and everything I want. And that dichotomy is enough to make anyone a little bit crazy.