So I turn 27 today.
In a lot of ways, I don’t feel 27, but in many ways, I do. When I was younger, I used to think that at 27 you truly became an adult; that you couldn’t really say you were in your 20s anymore, but you didn’t yet have the put-togetherness of 30. I had a friend who once said 27 was the perfect age to get married and another who said 27 was when they wanted to have kids.
Obviously, there is no “perfect age” to do anything, but in my mind, I decided that 27 meant adulting. It meant that you finished your 4-6 years of college and were in the throes of your career. That you had established what you wanted and how to get it. I expected to have certain experiences that I didn’t get and never expected some of the experiences that did.
26 was a good year. It was a year of lessons, growth, and clarity, and ultimately getting back to myself. I had some unexpected hardships and some really good experiences. I got to spend time with friends and family and see new places. I made mistakes that I learned from, and others that I didn’t and had to make again. I got to laugh with my kids and watch my little sister graduate high school.
I didn’t finish 4-6 years of college, but I finished two, and I’m okay with that (and maybe I’ll even go back one day). I feel like I am in the throes of my career, but not in the technical sense. I’m not married, but I have two beautifully wild children that I couldn’t be happier with. And I have an idea of what I want, but I’m not really sure how to get it, and I’m okay with that too. I’m happy with how I’m ending 26, and I’m excited to see where this 27th turn around the sun takes me.