I’ve always prided myself on being an optimistic realist. I can dream-up absurd things like a champ, but I might still lay-out my clothes before work everyday because I know it will save me some time and I won’t do it in the morning. I feel it’s how I function effectively. Sometimes it’s hard to maintain the optimistic side. I’m in a bit of a rut, I guess you could say. I’ve been out of college a year. I still live at home and I still don’t have that dream job I was promised back in 1999. I’m not particularly exciting. I don’t go out that much and I’m not with a different guy every week. I go to work, do as I’m told, hang-out with my friends when I can, and go home. I feel like most of my colleagues feel the same way that I do. I get the striking suspicion that the vast majority are stuck somewhere. I guess that’s the nature of being 23. It’s that weird age between 21 and 25. At 21, you’re usually a little over half-way through college. You’re drinking legally, feeling like an adult and you finally have all your privileges you’ve been promised for so long. I’ve always considered 25 to mean you’re an actual adult. It just sounds more impressive. “Hi, I’m a quarter-century old and can rent a car.” But 23 is just 23. That’s just 8,395 days.
Upon finding the exact number of days I’ve lived, I feel the need to change my tone. I was going to write a post that slightly groveled in my own sadness about current romantic and family situations. I hate when people do that, but I needed to vent. But 8,395 days...that’s it? With the months since my birthday, I might be knocking around at 8,500, but math is not my forte. You see, I also had a mini pre-quarter-life crisis on my birthday last year. I found myself saddened because my friends weren’t able to do anything on my birthday, I had to close at work, and I missed my ex-boyfriend terribly. I didn’t even really talk to that many people except my parents that day, which was fine. But the next weekend, I was able to celebrate with all of my friends and had one of the best birthdays ever. I remember thinking, “God, I’m a really selfish bitch.” But the best thing about it was that I took a moment and thought about it, and realized how lucky I am. So what if you have to work late on your birthday? Who cares if you don’t have a date on a Saturday? And so what if you open yourself up to someone and they disappoint you again? That’s just something you have to roll with. I’m kinda impressed with what I’ve done within my first 10, 000 days. I haven’t found the cure for cancer or a husband, but I’ve been to Vegas and Field Party twice. I’ve driven a brand new Mustang off the lot. I’ve embarrassed myself in public a few times, and I’ve been convinced that playing on the beach at 2am in Orange Beach, Alabama is the most alive I’ve ever felt. Being stuck is what you get for being 23, but then again, that’s the beautiful thing about this moment in time. You have the time to clean-up all the broken pieces and make a mosaic. And despite the way it seems, it’s not the end of the world. So make the most of your 8,395, or 10,042, or 62,000 days…but you do the math on it.
“If you’re loved by someone you’re never rejected,
Decide what to be,
And go be it…”
- The Avett Brothers