I have always done birthdays with huge enthusiasm. I like the pageantry of it, bask in the idea of acting like a princess for one day. If you asked anyone they would likely say that I seem like someone who loves birthdays. Or at least I hope they would, otherwise I’m not keeping the facade up very well.
The thing is, I do like birthdays. I’m not usually a fan of attention but I can make an exception for one day a year that’s all about me. Th problem comes with the ageing part. Birthdays make me panic.
Did I make enough use of the past year? Did I live life to the full? Am I hitting the milestones that society has set for me? Let alone, the goals I’ve set for myself.
Today I turn 25. 25 feels old. 25 feels like I should have everything together by now. I should have a full time job, be saving for a mortgage, know the path I want to take in life. But I don’t.
But what I’m forgetting is how much I’ve achieved in the past 12 months. I got engaged, moved in with my fiancée, visited Dublin, Edinburgh and Geneva, scored 100% in a drug calculations exam, made new friends and had incredible experiences with old friends. (I also saw Katy Perry live so obviously this year has been amazing).
Honestly, this year has been the happiest of my life. I’ve learnt to say no to things I don’t want to do, say yes to some scarier opportunities, understand exactly what works for my mental health and what doesn’t, take a much bigger interest in my physical health. This year has been a defining year for working out who I am now and who I want to be in the future.
If my 25th year is as good as the 24th has been, then maybe I’m not so scared of getting older?