the big 2-3

It's my birthday. The 28th of September. I'm turning 23 years old, which really means nothing, since I will continue to be "twenty-something." However, I do want to say some parting words to 22, because I'm glad I survived. At 21, I jumped off a cliff. Graduated from college early, moved to Spain, started from nothing with the enthusiasm of...a 21 year-old. If at 21 I jumped off a cliff, then 22 was the freefall. I ate too much, drank too much, stayed up too late, and probably wore too little clothing. While doing these inappropriate things, I also held down a respectable job (teaching preschoolers makes you adorable and responsible), and did my best not to think too hard about the future. 22 went by quickly, hazily, and not quite painlessly. There were the inevitable transitional growing pains, from the life of a student to the life of a struggling-to-be-financially independent ex-pat. Balancing my budget, putting a little money away, trying to make friends. This sounds like some kind of sitcom, and it's totally cliché. But it's a cliché for a reason. Everyone gets lost, no one's really sure what they're supposed to be doing. Does everyone type "what to do with life" into google? We all have our paths, and some of us chose to ask the internet for its sage advice (apparently going to India is a very popular life plan). But, 22 is gone now. And I chose to see it out the door in the only appropriate way: by going out for four days straight as a lead up to the big day. I now have a cold, which I passed to everyone in the English department. 22 was exhausting. But the freefall, I hope, is over. I'm not saying I'm where I want to be, or even close. I will say, however, that flailing and trying to grab onto anything that feels solid is no longer my best plan. Here's to taking a year to get some direction. It's up to you to use it, 23.