In other words: a standard birthday when you're in your 20s, life crisis and all.
When I was looking to the future on Wednesday night, I was convinced that this undefined shift would cause my apartments to always be perfectly curated and my wit forever sparkling. Now in the sober light of a Friday night, I'm beginning to think I was wrong to wish for that. Because now I'm thinking about the past. As in the past year, in which I:
- watched two of my friends get married
- moved twice
- switched jobs
- ended up in the hospital for two weeks
- threw myself into dating with all of the frenzied pace of an 80s training montage
- finally slowed that down
- got over my fear of Toronto biking
- had a falling out with one of my best friends
Perhaps it's better that this major shift never happens. Or waits until I'm thirty. Twenty-five felt like all I could handle and more, like a turning point that will mark my life into a "before" and "after" point, no matter how much I tell myself that mine - like anyone's - is just a continuum. And so I hope my apartment continues to be a bit of a sty, and my wit often lacking. Because I hope this year doesn't throw me - too much.
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