I turned 25. I have to stop saying I’m in my early 20’s. I’m exactly mid-20’s. 10 years ago I would have said that being 25 means you are an adult. I can drive, vote, drink, and rent a car – all the things adults do! Now? You aren’t an adult until 35. It’s official. I just bought my own car. I just got a job with benefits. These things are old hat for real adults.
I have to remind myself that I’ve lived on my own (with roommates) for 3 years, that I’ve been paying for my phone and car insurance for forever, that I’ve been consistently working for 12 years. People trust me to take care of their ailing pets when they go on vacation, and with their fragile little children when they want a date. I have married friends. I have friends with kids. I’ve been in the same relationship for half a decade and we didn’t start dating while I was in high school. FML, I’m a grown up.
Then I relax and realize that this time of my life is probably going to be the most liberating. I have to go to work, but I can party or chill or do whatever the f I want all weekend. I can go on week long vacations to places that aren’t filled with sad teens in cartoon costumes. I can have dessert first, watch all the Netflix I want, wear weird trendy clothes, no curfew, no kids, no mortgage, it’s not weird for me to use SnapChat, but I can also afford to go out. This time of my life is all the fun of adulthood without all the stress. I’m going to fricken relish it.
Suburban Fervor 