So, I said I was going to write at least 27 blog posts about life at 27 by the time I turned 28. Maybe I'll shoot for 30 posts by my 30th birthday?
Here's the truth. 27 has been a tough year for me. I've been processing a lot and wrestling a lot (in my mind, not as an athletic pursuit-- just in case that wasn't clear). There have been a lot of thoughts spinning around in my brain. Big thoughts. Thoughts about love and God and work and life. Too many thoughts to sift through and write down.
My early 20's were full of hope, excitement, prospect. I had dreams. I had plans. I was willing to move across the country with no clue what was ahead of me. I wanted to travel, see the world, make it a better place.
Then, somewhere along the way, I ran out of steam. Somewhere between the west coast and the east coast, my spirit changed. I started seeing heartbreak in the world rather than joy. My hopes withered. My worries grew. I started paying for health insurance, car insurance, cell phone bills. I didn't have money left to see all the places I wanted to. Anxiety set in.
I began to face the harsh reality that choosing a career in a field I thought I was passionate about might mean making so many sacrifices and fighting so many uphill battles that I may actually lose my passion for the work I thought I was made to do.
I started to deal with the fact that loving someone isn't always easy, communication is harder for me than I thought it was (I'm a good talker, not such a great listener, it turns out) and that my expectations when it comes to relationships (both romantic and platonic) might be a little one-sided.
I used to think that growing up meant checking off a checklist: Land awesome job. Get married. Buy house. Have kids. Buy another house. I know lots of people my age and younger who have checked almost all of those boxes by now. In Richmond more so than in the other cities I've lived (sometimes it feels like people here turn 30 at 24). Does that mean they're more grown up than me?
It's easy for me to believe that lie. (Facebook makes it easier). Because I haven't crossed any of those major things off of my list, I must somehow be less of an adult than those that have.
But here's the truth. Growing up is a process. And real maturity isn't actually about marital status, financial stability or home-ownership (though sometimes we learn lessons in those areas, too). It's about recognizing the places that you're weak and asking God to help you grow in those areas. It's about falling down and getting back up again. It's about hanging on to your faith and trusting that God has a plan even when life doesn't turn out the way you thought it would.
It's been five years since I graduated from college and externally it may not look like much has changed. I'm still living paycheck to paycheck. Still wondering if I should go to grad school. Still asking if I'll ever feel emotionally ready to get married or be a mom. But I am not the same person I was at 22. I have grown up. And I am growing still.
