I turn 25 in a few hours. I wish I could say something profound on the eve of my 25th birthday, that I could dispense some pearls of wisdom that I've developed through life lessons and experience. I wish I could say with a lightness of heart that I'm perfectly fine with getting a year older.
But the truth is that I'm sitting in the dim lighting of my office, with nothing but the soft sounds of my itunes study music to keep me company, feeling a bit emotional for no particular, and yet every, reason.
I never feel my mortality more than when I get older. When I feel older. When the realization hits me that I'm no longer as naive, as carefree, as unburdened as I once was. That no, I actually don't have all the time in the world to figure things out.
Have I mentioned that I'm not at all fond of my birthday? Like so many arbitrary days in the calendar, it supposes that the day should somehow be special for you. That the world should smile kindly on you in recognition of the day of your birth. But like so many other things in my life, I always anticipate something memorable, worthwhile, and beautiful on my birthday...but it always ends up passing me by in the most unremarkable way. And I can't help but see it as a reflection of my life in general.
Do I wish I were more traveled? Yes. Do I wish I had more life experiences? Absolutely. Am I satisfied with where my life is? Not particularly. Do I crave more? YES.
I hold my breath, all day, waiting. wanting. feeling. ready. nostalgic. silent.
But for what? I stand still.
When will I catch up with myself? Where is the beauty in my life?
Where is the peace within myself?
At the end of the day, I just want to feel something besides this. beyond whatever it is that fills my hours with a nothingness that is deafening. I want to know and feel that I exist. And I exist for something.
Where is the story of my life?
Please, let me feel infinite.
MIRTH:
Blogging the delicious, the inane, the delightful, and the laughs of a twenty-something.
