Twenty-six was never an age that I was excited for growing up. You know how certain ones are ones you look at with excitement? Sixteen for driving, nineteen for drinking, twenty-one for the trip to Vegas you won’t take? Those are the ones you get all hyped up for. Twenty-five was one of those too.
It’s a 25th anniversary! That’s the silver one. Treat yourself to some silver because gosh darn you made it to twenty-five. Know what twenty-six feels a bit like?
Silver with a lil’ bit of rust.
I worked out on the last day of being twenty-five and felt pain in my knee. I could feel age and lack of exercise slowing my body down as I struggled to get through a YouTube circuit workout (spoiler alert: I didn’t make it). In 25 years, my body has cared for me and given me many things, and I’ve given nothing back to it but two-a-day visits to McDonalds.
Sorry, body. I’ll try to do better.
I still feel like a big kid even now.
My office is a reflection of that. There are wrestling action figures on a shelf, but notes for a potential masters in my desk. I still only drink hot chocolate and hate coffee. And I’ve learned that professionalism at work doesn’t necessarily lay in how you’re dressed and how your office looks, but in the level at which you care about your work.
The spot I’m in, being on the back nine of my 20s but the front nine of life still, feels good. I no longer look at it as age, but as experience. 25 was a year of experience for me. I moved across province, travelled more and farther than I ever have in my life, and began to recognize the important relationships I have. I’m more isolated than ever up here in the wild north west, but feel more connected to the people in my life.
There are no songs about turning 26, and that’s okay. I danced enough to 22 to annoy my friends for lifetimes over. The song for 26 is going to have to be one that I make up and sing to myself as I go about my every day.
Twenty-five was absolutely silver. It was an amazing year, but I need to believe it to be silver. It can be the second best to whatever comes next.
Fun birthday anecdote to end on – when I was growing up my mom would bring in packs of pudding to share with my class instead of birthday cake because I didn’t like the texture of cake. What kind of child was I.