5x5

Growing up, 25 was the magic age. It seemed like at 25 people were really grown up, and since I was the sort of child who was born with full-fledged adult neurosis, I always wagered that by 25 I would grow into my skin fully. It was the age I expected my career (directorial career, just in case you were wondering) to start to take off as well as the age after which I was allowed to get married because I would have lived enough to know what I wanted (jumped the gun, obviously.)
Of course, the reality is I am still uncomfortable in my skin and I am currently unemployed with not even a vague premonition for the future. I was still kind of holding out hope that a little fairy would descend on me at 4:30 this morning and bestow knowledge and maturity and grace, but as I woke up feeling the same, looking the same, and dancing the same, I assume I'm on my own. A few weeks ago I decided that 25 was going to be my year of adventure. I was going to list things that I'd always wanted to do but was always afraid to try. But that was in an upswing of confidence, and I have since refolded myself into the tiny box where I feel safe but angsty, knowledgable but useless.
Instead of the year of adventure, I think this is going to end up being my year of figuring things out. I don't expect to have the whole of my life gridded out, but I am going to try to make solid steps in a certain direction. Because of the move, I am working with a fairly clean slate, and I believe it is essential for me to take advantage of it before I get lost under the pile of day to day worries once more.
I am happy to find that at 25, I have begun to love living even though it is messy. I am happy to find that, even though love and marriage are concepts I still struggle with, in reality I am so happy that I get to be in love and with my love every day. I am happy to find that, while my brain may not be fully university trained, it still bends and flexes (despite my efforts to squish it with internet surfing and television). I am also happy to find, that underneath my bitter exterior there remains the kernel of a generous spirit.
Which is really too too serious of a discussion for a birthday; who wants to make a margarita in my mouth?