Being in your twenties is so weird. It’s such a bizarre period of life limbo, where at any given moment you could feel as grown up and adult and You-Got-This as your parents, or as inexperienced and naive and Help-Me-Where’s-An-Adult as a tiny child.
For the most part, from toddler age to late teens, all of your friends and peers are in the same place as you emotionally, intellectually and geographically. When you’re middle aged, your friends and peers are, with a few exceptions, employed and settled with kids. But in your twenties, who even knows? I have friends still at uni, friends who are funemployed, friends who are kicking off amazing careers, friends who are married, and all of them are within three years of my own age.
All of my closest friends now live at least an hour away, which is the trouble with a combination of going to university really far away, and living in the middle of absolutely nowhere in the countryside. The majority of my contact with any of them comes through social media, which is why I will be forever grateful for Facebook despite its many pitfalls.
That said, it makes Skype calls, phone calls and those precious face-to-face meetings all the more special. I went up to London last Sunday to see a few uni friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen since last August/September, and I laughed until I cried three times in the day. It was the best day I’ve had in a long time, and the residual joy from it has buoyed me through most of this week. This coming weekend I’m off back up to Durham for the Intercollegiate Cheer Comp, because I cannot and will not let go of my love for the Trevs Cheer Squad, and the excitement of seeing my friends who are still studying up there is going to get me through the rest of this week and beyond.
I also Skyped my uni roommate on Sunday evening, and we chatted about this exact thing – being in your twenties is so strange. It feels like an awful lot of pressure sometimes, what with trying to meet society’s expectations that we will all forge a career path, find a healthy, long-term relationship, buy a house (or at least rent a nice one), and know exactly who we are and what we want from life by the time we’re 27. Not a chance, pal.
My twenties, so far, have been an absolute riot. I’ve lived in four countries, and briefly popped into several more, spoken (with varying degrees of success) three languages, met some incredible people, laughed until I’ve cried, passed my driving test, written a dissertation (and complained the whole time), graduated, travelled the USA, discovered I’m shockingly bad at paddle boarding, and managed to land myself a job and a salary. I’ve been at the highest and lowest points of my life over the past three years, and I don’t think I’d change a single moment, even the hideous ones. Most of the best memories I have came about because of things I didn’t plan, or things I agreed to at the last minute with my heart racing and my sensible side screeching. Sometimes (and forgive the hypocrisy, as I’m fully aware that I’m a huge control freak) I think you just have to sit back and have a little faith.
I don’t care what you have faith in, that’s entirely up to you. Faith in God, in the universe, in karma, in fairies and unicorns if you want to. But find faith in something, and trust it to have your back even when everything else is piling up against you. 2018 feels like it’s going to be a good year, and I don’t even know why. But I’m going to try really hard to staunch the must-control-let-me-control-I-need-to-be-in-charge urge that I have, and let things run their course and reach the conclusion that they’re supposed to. With a lil helping nudge here and there…
Until next time, when I’ll try to be a little less Mystic Meg, K.