Yesterday was the final day of my 22nd year on Earth. 22 was probably not my best year. Not even close, actually. I feel like an appropriate post for today would be a reflective recap of everything I did, and learned, and accomplished as a 22-year-old. The truth is, though, that I spent the morning cleaning up cat poop, so I’m really not in the mood.
What I will say is that I spent a lot of time this past year trying to feel less like a girl, and more like an adult women. I mean, a twenty-two-year-old is old enough to get married and have children without being ridiculed by society, but I was still eating mostly frozen food for dinner and asking my parents to do my taxes for me. In my head, I felt around sixteen, probably. It’s weird to think that others, especially strangers, look at you and see an adult where you’re pretty sure an adolescent should be.
I resolved this inner conflict by wearing darker lipsticks. It was a superficial solution, but not without symbolism. Wearing lipstick definitely makes me feel more like an adult. So does buying better clothes. I guess the idea is that I’m trying to take myself more seriously. Or something.
So this year, in addition to continuing the lipstick wearing, I also hope that I can be a little more intentional and present in my own life. Over the past couple of years, I’ve developed the horrible habit of turning to the Internet and television when I overwhelmed, or sad, or lonely. When I feel bad, I just want to watch something, to sit passively and be distracted from my own mind.
My one real hope for 23 is that I live this year with more intention, and that I find more active and creative ways to deal with negative emotions. I need to learn to waste less time. After all, I’m not getting any younger.
Please ignore all the bad life advice I gave you on your birthday! Remember this though: the secret to becoming a real adult is that nobody knows anything about it. Just like you. Welcome to oldness!
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