25: A monologue.

There comes a time, when you’re hurtling into your 25th year and heading on the road to an all-too-probable quarter-life crisis, when the best thing to is just to stop for a second. It doesn’t need to be for long – and god knows that it won’t be, thanks to an ongoing crippling case of FOMO – but sometimes it’s good to just take a moment to reflect. I’ve heard it’s good for the soul, kind of like looking at pictures of cute dogs in costumes or drunken karaoke.

So I’ve decided, since this is my new blog and I’m stepping boldly into my mid-twenties, that I would share my moment of reflection with you all. Aren’t you the lucky ones? (As an aside, it won’t always be like this – this blog will contain many more fun things, including cake. And who doesn’t love cake?!).

So 24 was an interesting age to be. It involved all of the things, including but not exclusive to; moving house, falling in love, surprise heartbreak, weight loss, weight gain, joining a netball team, finding new friends, losing friends, wedding baking, dating apps, over-sharing, crying, laughter and far too many glasses of rose wine and gin. I have both realised that I am pretty damn good at my job and also that I am terrified of going on holiday unless it all goes tits up and they realise that maybe I’m a big old fraud after all.

And do you know what? All of these things are okay. I may be in the half of the Facebook wall that is too drunk to find my phone. I may be the one who has happy, coupled-up friends tell her that they ‘live vicariously’ through me because my life can be somewhat of a veritable smorgasbord of mishaps and unfortunate events, which apparently is really very entertaining. I may even want a dog so badly, I am subscribed to a newsletter whereby they send me a picture of a cute dog every day just to make me feel a little less depressed that there is no way in hell I can currently conceive having one.

And you know why all these things are actually fine? It’s because after all of this, I am still alive and full of hope for the coming year. I’m convinced that my 25th year will be the one in which I will appear in rush hour crush, have my JK Rowling-style epiphany on a train and kick arse at my new job. I’m going to go on holiday for a week and get a tan and I will finish another Game of Thrones book. I’m going to tone up so that I wobble less.

And I will do all of this whilst hopefully suppressing the urge to eat all of the chocolate and drink too much and all of the other signs of a quarter-quell induced crisis. Take that, life.

25 – I’m so excited I may just do a little wee.