It’s Thursday again. The September of the week. The 2nd act of the play. The 30th minute of a 45 minute Bio lecture. It’s not the middle of the week but it’s not the end. It’s not the weekend but it’s not Monday. It is the 24 years old of your early to mid-twenties and if that’s a reach, then call me Elastigirl.
I’ve been talking to my friends a lot about what it feels like to be 24. In second grade, 17 years ago, my friends and I witnessed the plaguing infestation of cicadas. We all learned in science class that we would be 24 years old the next time they came out in this large of a population. Twenty four years old! We talked about how we’d all be married by then. We talked about how we’d be full grown adults. And we are now, aren’t we?
My parents were 24 and 26 when they got married. I think about how when my dad was 24 he got married for the first time and while I am 24 I drowned a bug in my bathtub and after it went down the drain I ran the water a little longer and then squirted some shampoo down there for good measure as if my coconut sea kelp sulfate and paraben free shampoo would harm god’s most resilient crawling creature. I digress.
I told you year two of this blog wouldn’t be all about me and it sort of isn’t. It’s just how I see things. And I’m 24 and unlike my 2nd grade predictions I’m not married. The man I used to think about marrying is now married to someone else. And she’s a supermodel. And he just won artist of the year at the VMA’s and our schedules wouldn’t have been compatible anyway so it’s really ok. What I’m saying is, perspectives change. And I’m 24 and most of the time I have no idea what’s going on. Life is football to me. Everyone’s yelling and running and I’m just looking to find something to eat.
24 is the Thursday of the early to mid twenties because I feel like I’m in a liminal space. Neither here nor there. I’m too old to feel like I’m still in college but too young to start going to weddings and using retinol serum. I have one more viable year until Leonardo DiCaprio won’t date me.
I hope to look back on this time and refer to myself as a baby. I hope anyone who’s 24 and 44 and 64 and reading this knows that it’s never too late to change how you live. What you do and who you see and how you act and how you order your bagel. I’ll never be the youngest person to attend the MET gala, but one day I might be the first girl to wear her senior prom dress to it. And what a cool thing that would be. Who are you wearing? BCBG and a DSW pumps. The earrings are from Nordstrom and the bag is my mother’s. I tried to do a smoky eye please don’t come too close.
The reality is that most people on the planet don’t achieve substantial things until way later in life. The 30 under 30 thing is a rarity. Timothee Chalamet and Naomi Osaka are the exception, not the rule. I’m trying to focus on acting my own age. Not looking for a 10 year plan but looking for a 10 minute walk to a latte. Not looking for a husband but looking for a dude who will be nice to me. I’m trying to not treat myself like there’s a ticking clock. I have roughly 17 years left of viable fertility. Just in time for the next batch of cicadas.