I'm 24 years old — a.k.a no longer a baby
"You know we're almost out of our mid-20s right?"
Lauren always was really good at pep talks. It was Saturday, and I officially had the birthday blues. The parties were over, the gifts were unwrapped and I had already eaten the pumpkin cupcakes Madeline had got me.
It was back to cold, harsh reality. No more celebrating the fact that I was getting older — I was just older.
Lauren and I tried to lighten the mood and plan out my quarter-life crisis (heads up, I'm probably dying my hair pink and joining a reggae band), but the weight of the conversation stayed with me the whole day.
I'm 24, and that number is only going to get higher. But for me, it's never been the age I worry about, but how I might change with it.
There's a lot of adult stuff on my daily agenda, and I'm somehow surviving despite being the sole caretaker of myself, a cat and a fish who's bowl I can't stop breaking. I work a full-time job and a part-time job. I play second base in an adult softball league — which is something I vividly remember making fun of my dad for doing.
But even though I'm more grown up than I've ever been, a lot of people still see me as a kid. And I kind of hope that never changes.
Kids find joy literally everywhere. They do things before thinking and well before they're ready. They make decisions based on how much fun they're going to have. They love without restraint and live without limitations.
So my goal for growing another year older is to stay young. For every bill I pay, I want an irresponsible decision to follow it. Because growing up doesn't mean you have to stop having fun.