Being 25

I found this post a while ago and since then, I probably read it at least once a week. It really resonates with me and I find it just absolutely beautiful. Read it…you won’t be sorry.

Being 25
Written by Bohemia and Bull

Being 25.

Some days I get frustrated. I look forward at the woman I’m bound to become — you know, the one who’s achieved all my dreams. She’s given birth, she teaches yoga, she’s refinished her home with vintage finds and copious amounts of elbow grease, and she owns her own business, oh yeah, she’s also madly in love — and guess what, this love actually lasted more than two years…most days, she honestly believes it is a forever.
And then I look around, at a living room that’s honestly still not even unpacked and I moved here 8 months ago. At my body that once again, skipped out on yoga class today. At my time, and how it seems that approximately 800% of it is spent on a company owned by someone else — their dream. And as for that everlasting love, well, I’m really not even convinced that it exists. Thinking of it hurts with a depth I can’t even begin to explore.
This isn’t me having a breakdown — that happened a few weeks ago. I walked to the end of the beach in the most beautiful place I’ve ever known, sat down on a big black volcanic boulder, and in my neon pink swimsuit, I cried. Without a soul in sight but the sky stretching for miles and miles until it hit the sea, I sat there and cried like I haven’t cried since I found out my best friend was moving across the country when I was 9. For over an hour, until my face was utterly ruined and my voice was hoarse.
I’m not really sure what came over me, just a good old fashioned dose of unadulterated fear. The kind of fear where you think about life and you think about death. You think of all the times you haven’t called home, all the phone calls you forgot to return, all the friendships that accidentally faded away when you weren’t looking, and all the times you’ll never get back, all the “i love you’s” that you thought were forever, like forever, forever. How you’re parents are starting to look older, and your brothers date girls that look the same age as you, and you don’t know all your sisters secrets anymore, and how you live so far away from home. The damn passing of time, the universal battle to try and maintain balance somewhere between the death of youth and the expectation of maturity.
Some days, I’m really motivated to become that woman in paragraph one. I know I’m on my way. I know that life is just a fight against my own self doubt, and you can’t really think twice about pressing sleep or going to yoga because when something is the right thing to do you just do it, god dammit. That’s being an adult.
And other days, I’m really awesome about doing that thing that like, every yogi, philosopher, blogger, mother, god or otherwise-guru preaches: be present. I’m perfectly content waking up on a Saturday and cleaning my house, going to a coffee shop with my best friend, wandering into an art gallery and then a flower shop because the sun is shining, and buying two new little baby succulent plants. We named them Theo and Pudge and fell madly in love with them and life as the sun set on the alleyway behind our tiny but hard-earned apartment. The horizon nearly as purple as the Malbec in our glass; yesterday and tomorrow completely irrelevant.
Then there’s the in between days, like today, where honestly, I’d rather being having a breakdown than to feel so blase about literally everything. Its days like this where I wonder, maybe its time to give all this up and make a giant terrifying leap into something else? What, exactly? I have a million ideas, but, I’m not sure which path will get me to the me I will become. I guess they all will, right?
…she took the words right out of my mouth.

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