Most people have had the wonderful privilege of encountering an individual barreling through a midlife crisis and landing flat on the faces with nothing left but a broken family, emotionally scarred teenagers, and ,more than likely, some sort of addiction. This phase has gained recognition in the world of psychology as a legitimate excuse for why men in their 40’s sleep with the maid and impregnate them, but I digress.
This post isn’t about the middle-aged individuals who have reached a stagnant place in their lives and require some completely outrageous act to feel the wind beneath their wings again. This is about the young adults my age (24…yikes) reaching this final stretch of youth before we reach the big three oh. If you didn’t feel the flame from the fire lit beneath you at 18, you’re certainly feeling it now at 25. This is it! We’re in our twenties! The prime of our lives. The years when we can travel with friends, drink wine like adults, and start looking for those relationships that will end with two white-haired, crinkly-eyed lovers, fingers interlocked on the wicker swing dangling on the wraparound porch watching their grandchildren roll around in the prickly grass.
Lately, I’ve been questioning myself abd the direction of my life: Do I being in Columbus? Am ia good mother? Are my twenties slipping by? Am I even a good writer? There is no doubt in my mind that many, many women would adore being in my position. After all, I am engaged with an absolutely amazing daughter, and still have some time before I need to get serious about a career. This doesn’t mean that I don’t have my own set of doubts and moments of vulnerability. My greatest crime against myself is reflecting on the dreams of my childhood and watching how many awful roads I stubbornly took instead of the ones that would have left me closer to where I thought I would be. I have these crazy bouts of nostalgia only to be bombarded by feelings of guilt that I would ever want anything in my life to change. Had I not completely dropped my life back in Florida and moved to New York City, I wouldn’t have met my fiance, who opened my world, my daughter would have never blessed me with her infection giggle, and I wouldn’t be at my dream school. If I had gone this way or that instead of the way I chose, my life would be completely different, but not necessarily in a good way. It’s that feeling of uncertainty, of what could have been that leads to this “quarter-life crisis” for me.