Every age has given me a deep sense of grief in some ways. I remember turning 13 and thinking that there was some sort of defined sense of maturity that I had to embody. It was the faux sophistication that ruined my teenage years. Of course, don’t all teenagers believe they know it all? Then there was when I turned 18. Suddenly, I wanted to be more open and vulgar, honest, and openly sexual without a sense of regret. Again, still being a teenager I felt at though this was what I was supposed to do, but still thought it made me special because I was the only one who felt strong enough to do so. Without too much digression, my sense of open honesty and shameless sexual liberation made me remarkable to certain people, and others for other reason. Then I was 20, feeling less accomplished than my other friends because I began college late and still don’t know my “meaning”. It was stupid to feel this way, looking back on it. Sadly, I’m 25 now. Twenty-five years old and feeling was less accomplished than 13, 18, 20, and even 24 year old me. Though .. that’s not all true.
Last year I happily squawked away about my finding meaning and leaving seeds behind in my measly 24 years. What’s changed? Not much, but almost everything. Granted, I turned 25 this past Friday but there was still a sort of change of heart that smashed into me like a semi-truck filled with concrete and cinder blocks: I’m five years away from being 30.
Okay, it’s time for a confession. Don’t laugh at me when I tell you this but … I’m afraid of time. I mean a dooming, dreaded fear of time passing me by even when it’s nothing but a day or a few hours. Days spent relaxing for normal people feels like a life I’ve wasted doing nothing but what i do every other day, watching movies and reading online articles about if it’s okay or not that someone washes their legs. I waste time, and it’s terrifying how easily I can do so. I’m scared that in hindsight, five years from this very moment, I’ll consider all my years a waste of time doing nothing but planning for moments that went by too fast for me to realize.
It can be said that this is a guilty conscious. I’m confessing time and time again that this time I’m wasted could be put to good use, and it has. The issue with my fear of time is that somehow I don’t do enough within this time frame to accomplish what I should have years ago. At 18 I graduated high school and it was the most on track task that I feel as though I’ve ever accomplished. But can’t it be said that life isn’t a race? It’s not a race, it’s a destination, right? Yet, somehow I feel as though in that second analogy that I’m running late for my plane that’s taking off in the last terminal but I’m not running towards it, I’m sitting somewhere waiting for my phone to charge or for my friends to meet me, or for someone to come and give me a ride all the way to where I need to go.
I wasted all my years waiting for the right time. I wasted all these years waiting for an answer that I haven’t gone to seek myself. It’s sad to admit, but I have wasted my years questioning myself.
Except for this year.
I mean, I didn’t automatically declare new year, new me or some mythical bullshit like that. I just decided that I’d rather count my regrets after I’ve tried my damnedest than spend my time worrying myself over the things that could go wrong. I would rather be afraid of the time I spent doing my best and trying my hardest than regretting the hours spent wasting time doing nothing but worrying. If you can’t tell by now, I worry a lot. It may not be a complete lie that my skin can attest to that.
This year I didn’t exactly celebrate too much aside from the mental declaration that this life wasn’t worth wasting anymore. I mean, there was celebration; I drank, I was merry, I loved, I sang, and I even topped the week off with video games with my dad. I celebrated life, but not my age. Now? I’m going to take that time to do so.
I’m celebrating my best friend and I finally doing something we set our minds out to do. I’m celebrating me finally doing what I’ve always wanted to do in the field of web design. I’m celebrating my writing, creating more pieces for others to read and embrace and a piece that I’m looking to complete by the end of the year. I’m celebrating my ability to finally have the courage to sign up for something that aligns with my writing career and desires, a writer’s retreat. I am celebrating my being 25 years old in a world where kids from where I was born barely got the chance to see 18. I am celebrating the achievements of those around me, because even though we feel as though we started late, we’re right where we all need to be.
I celebrate this life of mines and everything and everyone in it. This past Friday I turned a quarter of a century old and there’s nothing more that I want to do than celebrate.