Tomorrow, I officially leave my mid-twenties behind. Why, hello there, late twenties. Oh, I didn't notice the early thirties over there around the corner. No big deal.
When I turned 25, I was not happy about it. I felt like I was leaving my youth and fun behind, like all that awaited me were wrinkles and gray hairs. As silly as it sounds, 25 just didn't sound young to me.
But then 26 and 27 crept up, and I decided that I could stay 25 and probably stop time. The wrinkles and gray hairs could wait until I was done being young. 25+1 and 25+2 were pretty good years, except that time continued to march on.
So here I am, almost 28 (I am most definitely waiting until tomorrow to claim it), but I don't have the same feelings of melancholy and loss that I have felt for the past few years. I feel a little excited. There is still so much future out there, and I am thankful that I have a little more wisdom and maturity to throw at it. I think I can safely say that my frontal lobe is now FULLY developed.
I feel a sense of accomplishment that I didn't feel when I turned 25+1 or 25+2. I have a thriving toddler, a doting husband (he brought me lunch from Panera today, on his day off; I am way beyond spoiled), a career that I love, and friends and family who know me and accept me that way. I am the first to admit that nothing is perfect, but when I look around me, I am confident and comfortable in my role.
So bring on the wrinkles and gray hairs. I will rock them (or Botox and pluck them).