Hello again, world! I've taken what has turned out to be a rather long hiatus from blogging... and for the most part, real life in general. After my last post I basically spent my remaining time in Durham either holed up in the computer lab or sprawled out in my room studying, then I flew home for a month of blissful, school-free vacation. I spent most of my time hanging out with family, meeting up with old friends, sleeping, playing, and generally just pretending the days weren't ticking by. But alas, they were... and so I'm back in Durham and right back into the thick of things. Even though this is only the first full week of classes, I've been swamped since I got back with all the magazine stuff that I couldn't finish off before I left, and chose to ignore when I was home (because really, I can't write a locally-based story when I'm out of the country...). I could whine and pout about the unfairness of being assigned stories last minute, and how maybe they should have *remembered* to assign me the stories originally instead of sending me home in prior weeks because they had nothing for me to do.... but that's not what this post is about.
No, dear friends, this post is about the somewhat scary fact that tomorrow (or more specifically, in about 2 hours) I turn the dreaded 2-5.
(Dunn Dunn DUUUUUUNNNNNNNN)
Now I myself am not exceptionally bothered by this fact. Sure, I'm turning a quarter of a century. Yes, when I say it that way it sounds old. And numerous (usually younger) friends seem to get a great deal of pleasure out of pointing my ancient-ness out to me. And telling me that all their friends who are that age are married and have popped out a couple of kids. And how that's ok, I'm just not "at that stage" yet... whatever that may mean.
The thing is, people aren't maturing at the rate they used to. Women don't get married at the age of 17 and have 3 kids by the time they're 21 anymore. Instead, we go to school. We get a degree. Sometimes we get two degrees. Or three. We're capable, and it's recognized... so why is my "stage" in life dependent on whether there's a ring on the finger and a bun in the oven? I'm not measuring my life by whether or not I'm in a serious relationship... so why should other people?
Peoples' "innocent" comments and teasing jabs occasionally will get to me, and I'll let myself be overcome by all the things I haven't done in my 24 years on Earth. I haven't finished school, I haven't had a "real" job (or so I've been told), I haven't found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, I haven't figured out where I'm going to settle down or what exactly I'll be doing, I haven't decided where I'll be 10 years from now... hell, I don't even know where I'll be 4 months from now!
But you know what? I'm only 24. And in 1.5 hours, I will only be 25. That's not as young as I used to be, but it's sure as hell not old. I have the rest of my life ahead of me to figure out where to go, and what to do, and who to spend time with. I'll be a year older tomorrow than I am today, and that's ok! Age is just a number, and I'd rather be older and have done the things that I wanted to before "settling down", than be young, married and bitter.
I'm young. I'm happy. And it's THAT, not whether or not I have a ring, that makes ME successful.
