I remember being in college and being certain another change was going to come at 25. Something drastic and monumental, like a second puberty. Spoiler alert. It never came.
I mean things changed for sure but nothing monumental and thankfully I didn’t get another voice change nor get hairier. Really i barely recall what happened that year other than the quickening of time and the insignificance of birthdays. Wompwomp.
It’s weird though, 25 was to mark some “have my shit together” milestone. An official entrance into being an adult. An arbitrary line on the horizon I would pass through and transform into the next iteration of me. Maybe I did change, or maybe I already had. Looking back now I know it certainly didn’t manifest into “adulthood.”
I spend a lot of time wondering if I’m the only one that thinks a certain thing. While I try not to compare myself to others too much (read: I compare myself to others too much), I do sometimes wonder if people my age read this and think, “Grow the fuck up, you’re damn near 50.” Or do they find solace in the fact that I don’t think any of us have it figured out and are happy that I’m vocalizing it. Probably a little of both.
Everyday, I have stopped to write and I question the quality and validity of a post and a point. I’ll over analyze it and always think I should give it more thought and develop it more. Then I hit publish and go about with my day. That takes either fearlessness, narcissism or just a lack of awareness, but it keeps me asking myself questions and those questions are ultimately good, I think.
The good thing about 25 year old me is that I don’t feel terribly removed from him. My brain feels the same in a lot of ways but my back doesn’t. 25 year old me was a smoker, was grumpy (surprise!) and didn’t have a clue what was next other than he wanted to be a rock star. 47 year old me still does and questions how he should have gone about it, and ultimately is a much better version of me than 25 year old.
Maybe I’ll turn 50 and I’ll hit that second puberty.