25

In about three months, I will be turning 25. So this is the first of probably many posts about my impending old age.

Being 25 scares me. It's one of those ages that, well, ages you. By 25, it's pretty obvious you're out of college. You should no longer be staying up all night partying, procrastinating, and pretty much making a fool out of yourself--all things that are perfectly acceptable while living in a dorm room. Or an apartment with seven other girls. 

25 means you have a job, wear uncomfortable shoes, and eat whole grain cereal. It means grocery shopping in a store (instead of in your parents' cupboards), buying toilet paper (instead of stealing loose rolls from public bathrooms and hiding them in your purse), and having a wardrobe full of "business professional" garments (sniff, I miss wearing sweatpants and Northwestern t-shirts every day).

One third of my life has already happened. One of these days I will blink and wake up thirty (okay, breathe...still another five years). Of course, part of the reason I'm so terrified of this milestone age is this: 25 was always my personal deadline for the major things I wanted to accomplish in the early stage of my adult life. I was going to have a book written. I was going to be writing for a major publication. I was going to be a fun aunt. I was going to have my life together with a perpetually clean house and home cooked meals. I was going to have a garden full of beautiful flowers and delicious vegetables. I was going to be thin and in shape. I was going to run 5ks every weekend. I was going to own a golden retriever named Trixie. I was going to have traveled, studied abroad, and learned photography. I was going to be a mom.

But life happens; things happen. Other things, better things. Things I am proud to have accomplished in 25 years. 

But that's another post for another day.