A group of us from my undergraduate cohort used to go on camping trips in the summer and one year, I remember sitting around the campfire and someone asked the question, “If you could be one age for the rest of your life, what age would you pick and why?”
By the time the question came around to me, I knew exactly what my answer should be. “35” I said. “Because, by then I’ll still be young, but I’ll have had enough time to figure some things out, get a stable job, and generally have my life together.”
From time to time, like when I saw today’s prompt, I think of that night from time to time and I think my younger self had the right idea. This year I turned 30 and while I still haven’t quite gotten to my magic number, it’s easy to see how far I’ve come from that broke 22 year-old who was going to school full time and working two or three jobs at a time just to keep afloat. At 22, I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. I knew I liked books, but what do you do with an English major, really? I was nervous about the future.
In the past few years, I’ve started figuring out my career, I bought a house, and I married this nice fella.
While there are still plenty of questions about the future, I feel like I’m in a better place than ever before to face it. Just like my younger self hoped, I’m getting stuff figured out. Without any hesitation, I can say I’d much rather be 30 than 22.