Sunday, February 27, 2011

Twenty-Seven

I turned twenty seven yesterday.

Twenty seven, completely irrationally, is my scary age.  I don’t know why.  It doesn’t make sense.  Twenty seven is, objectively, a great age:  I’ve got my act (mostly) together professionally; I feel confident in my skin; I’m healthier than I’ve been in years; I have a good relationship with my family; I am dating a wonderful man I love.

Objectively, this is no time for a crisis.

And yet...I don’t know.  I can vividly remember Fourth Grader Me playing with her cabbage patch dolls, tucking them into their small wooden bunk beds, and thinking, “At Twenty Seven, I’ll have it all figured out.  I’ll be settled and there will be no questions left in my life.”

RIDICULOUS!  I know this!  And yet I still have trouble coming to terms with the question marks in my life.  It’s not a crisis so much, per se, as it is an attempt to refocus on the fact that it’s okay that I’m just finishing grad school now, at twenty seven.  That I’m just now entering my chosen career, at twenty seven.  That I’m solidly in the first big wave of friends getting married---which, as my therapist likes to say, “kicks up some stuff” for unmarried people.  That I have no property to my name and mountains of student loans to pay at twenty seven.

This half-marathon that I’ve been bemoaning lately---the race I’m running this very morning---was chosen in part because the race occurred during my birthday weekend.  I have suspected for many years that twenty seven would be a rough birthday for me, so what better way to ease myself into the year than by taking a mini-vacation?

Perhaps most excitingly, this half-marathon is in Disney World.  My mother lives in South Florida, and she agreed to join me for the weekend.  Frankly, I can’t think of a better way to dip my toe into my scary age than spending the weekend revisiting my childhood with my mommy at Disney.

I feel energetic and happy at the thought of traipsing around the parks with her, this time as an adult (although only a slightly less whiny adult than I was at age ten).  While renewing a glimmering sense of nostalgia, I can also accept and enjoy the place I’m in now.  

It’s different---I’m older---but it’s fantastic in its own way.

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