A Quarter Life Crisis

These are the best days of your life they say; nothing quite like your 20s they reminisce fondly yet sigh deeply simultaneously. I am not actually sure how they manage that. Probably something you learn in your 30s. But all jokes aside, I think I am starting to agree: these are the best days of my life. It’s unfortunate that it will take another decade or two for me to fully realize the potential of my youth and all that it could have unlocked. But I am desperately trying and sometimes that’s the best you can do.

I turned 25 this year. The automorphic age. It was actually last week. I’m late with this entry but I don’t blame myself entirely. I just didn’t have the will to write it. There is so little to say. Or maybe there’s too much to say and I just don’t know where to begin.

I was dreading this birthday. Not because I am afraid of getting older but because they say that anyone that ever achieved anything in their life: achieved it before they were twenty-five. I just wasn’t ready to accept that I had conceited to a life of mediocrity. I really thought I could have done better. Maybe I still have a chance. After all, if 40 is the new 20, then I have another twenty to go. Right? Is that how it works? I’m not sure. I am not really sure of anything anymore. But I am happy. And that’s what getting older is all about.

Adieu. Navid.