"We thought we had such problems. How were we to know we were happy?"
Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale
Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale
I bought a jean jacket when I was 16 because I thought I'd look cool.
I'd recently met a girl who'd looked effortlessly beautiful in hers, so I stole the look, hoping the denim would transform me into someone I wanted to be. Someone sexy and edgy and smooth, who was 16-going-on-26 and owned any room she walked into.
Today, the day before I turn 26, I wore that jean jacket and smiled about who I was when I first wore it.
I'd recently met a girl who'd looked effortlessly beautiful in hers, so I stole the look, hoping the denim would transform me into someone I wanted to be. Someone sexy and edgy and smooth, who was 16-going-on-26 and owned any room she walked into.
Today, the day before I turn 26, I wore that jean jacket and smiled about who I was when I first wore it.
That version of me is still in here somewhere. So is the 18-year-old college freshman and 22-year-old grad student.
What's bugging me is that I don't feel these past selves as strongly. They're fading into the background as I make sense of adult life.
In the last year, I've become a modestly successful religion writer and fallen in love. I'd dreamed of both developments, but their arrival was equal parts amazing and anxiety-inducing.
You see, my earlier selves may have longed for these events, but they didn't dare expect them. So I was caught off guard this year and scrambled to reorganize who I was and who I wanted to be.
I spent many weeks as a 25-year-old feeling frightened, worried that the house of winning cards I'd built was going to fall down. I wasn't relaxed enough. Wasn't happy enough. I cried too much, lost too much sleep.
25 was about accepting adulthood, for all of its promise and pockmarks. I kicked and screamed internally for 12 months, wondering when I was going to stop trying to be happy and just be happy.
As I welcome 26, I've formed an uneasy truce with this unsettled and unsettling spirit inside myself. I've promised to be calmer and kinder, to focus on the 10 reasons to celebrate a given day instead of the one frustrating failure.
26 will be my rebuilding year. I want to resurrect the part of me that thought a new jean jacket could heal awkwardness and unrest. I want to sleep in on Saturday mornings and eat the big slice of cake.
I want to live fully, embracing the messy parts of love and life and my career, instead of cowering whenever something doesn't go according to plan.
I want to give myself permission to grow up, and to be proud of myself every step of the way.
What's bugging me is that I don't feel these past selves as strongly. They're fading into the background as I make sense of adult life.
In the last year, I've become a modestly successful religion writer and fallen in love. I'd dreamed of both developments, but their arrival was equal parts amazing and anxiety-inducing.
You see, my earlier selves may have longed for these events, but they didn't dare expect them. So I was caught off guard this year and scrambled to reorganize who I was and who I wanted to be.
I spent many weeks as a 25-year-old feeling frightened, worried that the house of winning cards I'd built was going to fall down. I wasn't relaxed enough. Wasn't happy enough. I cried too much, lost too much sleep.
25 was about accepting adulthood, for all of its promise and pockmarks. I kicked and screamed internally for 12 months, wondering when I was going to stop trying to be happy and just be happy.
As I welcome 26, I've formed an uneasy truce with this unsettled and unsettling spirit inside myself. I've promised to be calmer and kinder, to focus on the 10 reasons to celebrate a given day instead of the one frustrating failure.
26 will be my rebuilding year. I want to resurrect the part of me that thought a new jean jacket could heal awkwardness and unrest. I want to sleep in on Saturday mornings and eat the big slice of cake.
I want to live fully, embracing the messy parts of love and life and my career, instead of cowering whenever something doesn't go according to plan.
I want to give myself permission to grow up, and to be proud of myself every step of the way.
Farewell, 25!
Things I've lost ...
Things I've lost ...
- Ability to sleep in
- Obsession with Law & Order SVU
- 20 pounds
- Spinster status
- Blonde highlights
- Gus the cat
- The Green Bay Packers
- Arm muscles
- Love of onions