Love: Being in my mid-twenties

The past few days, i debated whether this would be a LOVE or DO NOT LOVE post. Do I absolutely hate my age, or love it? Am I happy about this, or miserable? Neutral? (no, no, definitely not neutral).

I know most of the people in my life would be HAPPY to be 25 again. I hear this over and over from them every time I say I cannot BELIEVE I am 25, and I can understand that sentiment, really. But let’s be honest, their age (whatever it may be) in no way affects the way I feel about mine — it doesn’t make it any more REAL to me that I am in my mid-twenties now.




But, sometimes I’m dramatic, and sometimes I’m overly-sensitive to things and this may just be one of them, because sometimes when I think about this I feel an absolute fear take over me about how I’m getting (DARE I SAY IT!) old.

And so I find myself asking a question I’m sure many a pensive human have asked before  — what exactly is age? What makes one old instead of young? Are we talking physical age? Mental age?  And most importantly – what does it matter? Surely there are some physical reasons why it matters (“more” health problems, etc) but even those are hugely relative. You could get sick at any time. You could die at ANY age. We all know this. And listen, there are some great people in my life near their 40’s (or even in their 50’s) who are amazing human beings and full of life and who, I can safely say, are a lot more YOUNG at heart than other people I know who are actually “younger” in age.

And so, this month, as I turn twenty-five and officially begin to be labeled as being in my “mid-twenties”, I choose not to let it get to me. I choose not to let my age define me. I choose to strip away that old label that is applied to each of us more and more every year, and instead I choose to define myself by the things I do, the places I see, the people I love, and all the other defining moments in my life,