This week, I turned 27.
I am officially in my late 20s. People jokingly ask if I feel any differently, and actually I do. I don’t feel settled in my career, I don’t feel old by any means, I don’t have it altogether, but for the first time, I feel like I know what “having it together” means for me. That is, I know who I am.
Knowing who I am doesn’t mean that I am finished growing and changing. This is a jumping off point. I have a desire to better myself, but I also have no desire to change vital things about my character. That insecurity is gone.
It’s true that college is the most carefree time in your life, but I wouldn’t label it as the best. I am not totally satisfied, but I do feel that I am the best me that I have been so far.
This year has been a big one full of changes, uncertainties, heartbreak, fear. Moving to New York, starting over; huge. I had lofty expectations of my career, new friendships, excitement, happy hours and exotic dinners.
Here I am, it’s 7 months later and I am still looking for the right job. I have made a few friends, but no super close bonds like I had envisioned. I am struggling financially. And I couldn’t be more me.
It’s the struggle that forces me to find happiness in little things. I walk through Central Park or on the East River when I need to think. I am the girl with her nose always in a book again. I cook. I drink wine on the balcony.
Feeling alone has its advantages. You find exactly who you are when no one else is there to tell you who you should be.
