Seven days ago, I turned 27 and today I am missing something, something about my yearly twenties, as an adult, twenty five is the best age to be. Your social circle no longer includes whiny teenagers who think a heart-break is the end of the world, nor do you have to deal with married thirty something (although I am married at 26), who take every opportunity available to show off their trophy wives and expect you to join their ranks. You may already have a job, or you may still be looking for one. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t have a successful career, or even an inkling of where you’d want to be in ten years. You’ve had a few failed relationships, maybe even a couple of heart-breaks, but you still haven’t become jaded enough to entirely give up on the idea. You still meet plenty of new people and make new friends easily. You’re old enough to legally consume alcohol every weekend, but not old enough for people to think of you as an alcoholic. It is still okay to party with friends without needing a valid reason for it, and hangovers don’t last days.
Probably the best thing about being twenty-five, is that you’re still technically in your early twenties. Just a birthday later you suddenly enter your late twenties. The one year translates into added pressure to have a better paying job, expectations to be married or to at least have a steady partner. Impromptu week long getaways with friends will be frowned upon. People will expect you to be more serious about everything, behave more like a grownup and be more mature in general (read: boring and predictable.) Hanging out with your loved ones will become a chore, requiring you to schedule time for them in your newly hectic life. You’ll be expected to have your own place. Living with your friends will no longer be viable, as they’ll be busy dealing with their own problems that come with suddenly being on the wrong side of twenty.
All your travel plans die with your twenty-sixth birthday. Though you keep telling yourself that you’ll somehow make time for that backpacking trip across Europe that you’d promised yourself many years ago, whenever your office decides to grant you your leave, you’ll be left scrambling to plan a hasty visit to your home to be with your family for the holidays. The one vacation you do get will be your honeymoon, and let’s be honest here, that was not at all what you had in your mind when you so meticulously planned your great adventure.
And so I sit here wishing that time would slow down or entirely stop, that these next few months would somehow stretch into an eternity, wishing that I was still in my twenties.