I'm Getting Older

I turned 23 years old on Friday, and I don't think Im handling it all that well. 

Given the tardiness of posting this blog, I've spent a lot of time thinking about why. Truth be told, I haven't necessarily felt "young" for quite some time. As a kid, I was always described as having an old soul, though at the time I didnt know what that meant; I now realize it was an insinuation of my accelerated awareness of myself, my feelings, and the people around me. It gave me a sense of pride at the time, knowing that I was, in a way, wise beyond my years - it made me feel like I had something to look forward to. If I were ahead of the curve at 10, who knows how cool I'll be at 23? The downside is, I havent heard that term for a while, and recently I've begun to question why that may be. I know that 23 is not "old". In the grand scheme of things, it's one of the youngest ages an adult can be; shorn of the shackles of childhood and embracing the laissez-faire attitude of one's early 20s. But now, living through the middle of it, I can't help but wonder if maybe my soul has caught up to my age, and perhaps this is all I have to show for it. 

When I decided to go to college, my first thought was the opportunities it would allow me to explore. Of course, my career was the first thing on my mind, but I've always been someone who claims that so long as Im comfortable (financially) and have a life outside of my place of employment, the specific job I attain isn't as important to me. What is important is fulfillment, and thats what I hoped I would achieve. Beyond an artistically fulfilling role in some fashion-related establishment, one of the biggest pursuing factors was expanding my options. Having grown up where I did, my options in terms of who I spent me time with, and what I spent my time doing was arguably very limited. For that reason, I could not wait for my life to drastically change. I would have thousands of people my age to pick from, miles of walks, and shops, and places to go, things to do, and whats more, this boom in diversity would allow me to find those more similar to myself. Platonically, of course, I couldn't wait to make friends, but one of the most prominent things I was excited for was dating. Before that, I had been on one date, and one experience I'd rather not get into, neither of which we followed by a second encounter. Needless to say, 18 year old me was shaking in boots at the realization that I would, for the first time, have a world of oppurtinity at my doorstep. I know I've written before about the soul crushing yearning I felt growing up to experience the kind of relationships all of my friends got to much earlier on, so Ill try to avoid a double, triple, or quadruple beat. But needless to say, I always had this image of what my romantic life could become.

I'd meet a guy at a coffee shop, and spark up a conversation - we'd click immediately. It would be casual but fun at first, two very good friends just spending time together, before eventually he would ask to take things more seriously. We hang out frequently, but not so often that I didnt have time to myself and with my friends. He'd meet my parents during parent visit week, and though he wanted to move to the East coast and had graduated a few years before I did, hed wait for me. Wed move to New York together, id visit his family for christmas, hed visit mine for my birthday. By the time I was 24, we'd be engaged, married by 26, and live happily ever after. 

Of course, I learned very quickly that that would not be the way my cookie crumbled. Instead, I'd be faced with Twitter whores, 31-year-olds with daddy fetishes, and 6'2" twinks that seemed like they wanted to bottom more than I did. And though this is a very specific example of something I expected vs the outcome that reality hit me with, I think it is this dilemma that has been hitting me so hard for the last few days. Having high aspirations is one of my favorite qualities in myself. I know that, if nothing else, I won't ever settle for less - I will always have that voice telling me to reach for more, do more, create more, be more. But hopes can quickly turn into fantasies before you realize it, and it's not a rare occurrence. Though high expectations are a good trait to have, they can also lead to gut-wrenching disappointment. The realization that my life, and myself, may not be what I thought or hoped they'd be is a feeling unlike anything else, and on your birthday, so close to New Year's, it gets elevated to an almost crippling proportion. 

It isn't solely a matter of wanting to be more, or even expecting to be somewhere else at this point in my life. Its that, after 23 years of trying, of figuring it out, of putting in the work, I dont really have a whole lot to show for it. I know that Im young and still have plenty of time. I know that for every Jennifer Lawrence winning her first Oscar at 21, a Pedro Pascal is getting his first big role in his 30s, but the unfortunate thing about having hopes and dreams for as long as I have is that I have very little interest in waiting that long. I can keep going, keep saving, keep working. I can make the "what I want" part of my brain catch up to the "what I have" part of my life. But, simply put, I don't want to. I dont want to be getting married when my hair is already turning gray. I don't want to find my dream job in 5 years when everyone above me is the age that I am now. I want something to grow old with. I want something in my life to be what the rest of my life will look like. Every step to this point has been objectively temporary. Being a child comes with a clock, highschool friendships never seem to last past one's 20s, college only lasts 4 years, and moving away stayed at the same pace. No matter what I do, it all comes back to this: sitting in my Mothers house, surrounded by people but very alone, waiting for the next thing to happen. Waiting to fall in love, waiting for my dream job, waiting for the money to move again. 

As I lay down in bed, at the end of my 23rd birthday, I was happy. I was happy to have a family that loves me so much, happy to have friends who care to call. But the main thing on my mind was that, after 23 years, my life still doesn't feel like it has really started yet. I figured that having such big hopes would cast a large net, and at some point, I would catch something that stuck; that I would have at least one of the million milestones I hope to hit. And as I sit in my childhood bedroom, I realize that last year looked completely different, and next year will too, and through all the grim and harsh thoughts racing through my head, begging me to make myself something, that same little sliver of hope that I have clung to for countless years now still prevails. "Maybe when I'm 24."