I wrote my first post on this yonks ago and then promptly forgot all about it. But every year as another friend passes the hurdle of 25 and is closer to 30 than they are to 20, the cries go up of ‘OH MY GOD HOW DID WE GET SO OLD?!’. It just never seems to go away, this idea that we have to have our lives Sorted (with a capital S!) by the time we’re 30, because after that, fuck we’re old and being put out to pasture.
Maybe it’s just because I’m still renting a (tiny) flat instead of owning my own flat (with more than one room). Maybe it’s because the closest I am to dating (let alone getting engaged) is pretending that Ian Somerhalder would totes find me hot (imaginary BFs for the win). The one thing I can put a check mark next to is a pretty decent career, but even that I feel like I should be…what? Rolling in the dough? Known in all the right circles for being the brightest star on our industry’s dusty horizon?
The vast majority of us (myself definitely included) are not going to be sorted by the time we’re 30. And you know what? That’s ok. Fuck, some of us may not be sorted by the time we’re 50. Pressuring myself to be a certain way, to have achieved certain milestones by the time I’m 30 is just a sure way to make sure I’m miserable. Sure, I want for certain things, but the wanting shouldn’t stop me from being proud of what I do have, of being happy with where I am, who I am and what I have. The pressure of being sorted by 30 only makes sure that I’m not happy in the here and now – that my happiness depends on X or Y.
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