They say nobody likes you when you’re 23. Or at least blink-182 says that and they seem like a fairly reliable source. To be quite honest I’ll be good with 23 as long as it’s no 22. Taylor Swift led me to believe it was a much more magical time than it was… I should have paid more attention to the whole “happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time,” lyrics because there is so much truth in them it’s not even funny. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so many conflicting emotions in any other period of my life, and that’s including adolescent puberty. We all know how fun that is. Quick shout out to my parents for not disowning me in my teens, you guys are the real MVPs.
If you asked me how 22 was, my response would be completely dependent on my mood that day. If I were happy, I’d tell you it was wonderful. I got to be a part of the wedding of two very dear friends and being there for them was one of the most wonderful weeks of my life. I went on a great family vacation to Hawaii, I ran a half marathon, and I graduated college relatively unscathed with not only one, but two, degrees in four years. If it were a bad day I’d tell you 22 sucked. I had no clue what I was doing after graduation and I lost all my friends (not true in any way, they just didn’t live down the street anymore so some days it felt like it), I gained a bunch of college stress weight that I was then stuck trying to get rid of, worked a job that was okay but by no means my dream, and at the end of the day all I wanted was to be happy but had no idea how to get there. In short, 22 was a roller coaster and utterly exhausting.
My 22nd year was marked with more tears than most, whether out of frustration, excitement, sadness, or joy. If there were any justice in this world, I would have dropped a couple pounds losing them in water weight, but I learned that unfortunately this is not the way the world, or human biology, works. However nearing the end of 22, I started to finally get it through my head that I have much more to celebrate than to wallow in. You can choose to be lost and wander aimlessly or you can move with purpose, even if it’s shortsighted. You don’t have to live for the long-term goal: you can be perfectly happy with several short-term goals. They’re easier to break down and in some cases the steps needed to attain them may even be more realistically achievable. If I learned anything at 22, it’s that you can choose to wake up and be upset about where you are,
or you can choose to be positive about it; every day gives you a new choice.
Each day is a new gift and you can choose to be grateful for that, or you can compare your gift to everyone else’s, letting that comparison dull the excitement you should have for what is in front of you. When people ask me what’s new, I don’t have much to say to them that differs from the last time we spoke in terms of “exciting life events,” but I’m happy, and don’t feel the need to analyze why, but just be. I’ve found that there is an incredible difference in that.
My hope for 23, and what I wish I could have embraced more at 22, is to take each day for what it is, good or bad, knowing that the bad is only temporary and in the end, it’s all good.