Today is the last day of my 20s. Going from 19 to 20 didn’t feel very momentous, probably because I was waiting to turn 21. This feels a little different. I’ll be…older. I was the youngest in my family, and the youngest out of my closest friends. For a long time I was the youngest in the office (any office). Giving up that bright shiny spot is sometimes difficult. I’m not young anymore. But then again…younger isn’t always better. Exhibit #1, picture of me at 13:
(PS-thank you family and friends for loving me through puberty and beyond.) I was unsure and self-conscious in my teens. For most of my 20s, I struggled to find my place in my family and my friends, but felt out of place. I was single for a long time and I went to grad school, two things that set me on a separate course of experiences. I was depressed and, more rarely, not depressed. I was thinner, then fatter, then thinner. I let my looks define my self worth. I was quiet because I worried if I spoke up I could say the wrong thing or look dumb. I was stuck in love and belonging for the longest time. There were tons of bright spots in my 20s, of course. I met so many interesting people. I gained lots of work experience and traveled for fun and got my masters degree and learned to live by myself. I hung out a lot (but not nearly enough) with these beautiful people: I met this guy: And he even wanted to marry me. And this furball moved to Green Bay, Mankato, and then Madison with me. He didn’t judge me, even when I drank lots of wine and spent hours on YouTube. I’m happy to take what I learned and move on. I’m going to keep on moving up the pyramid. One of my favorite quotes is this: Do not regret getting older. It is a privilege denied to many. I’ll take my privilege and run with it and be grateful for 30 years.