The Fight of Twenty-Five

Remember that time when my nana told me my whole life that she woke up one morning, after turning twenty-five, and she realized what life was and so, thus, when I turned twenty-five the world magically made more sense — colors brightened, details increased, and the magnificence of the world simply overwhelmed my senses?

Right. Well. Me either. Because that didn’t happen. 

I have been the ripe old age of 25 for precisely two months and seven days. I believe I can confidently say, no fog has lifted. In fact, these past two months may have brought some of the hardest moments of my life. I know…I am in newlywed blissy heaven, right? Right. And sometimes life is hard. Both can remain facts. 

With my last post, I received more texts, emails, and messages than normal from friends wondering what exactly was going on. One of my most favorite (and frankest) friends called me and said, “What the hell, Emily? It sounds like you’ve stepped inside the Vagina Monologues. What is going on?”

An appropriate response to the raw emotion displayed and felt. 

You see, 25 brought a challenge. She did not simply bring clarity and recognition or even better understanding of the reality I live in. No, she busted through the deadbolt, broke the chain lock, and confronted my life with a big ole, “Whatcha got now, Em, eh!!?” Let’s just say home girl wasn’t as nice as previous birthdays but not in ways you might think. 

You see 25 has challenged me with a new possibility to grow beyond myself. Age is simply a number, right? She will visit every year to both the weakest and the strongest of us. Only those truly blessed take on the challenge 25 has present me: to grow into the age you are and to live full and well within the present. You can be 65 years old and still carry the same baggage, habits, issues as your 9-year-old self. Don’t believe me? Just take a look around families…you will find them. Those who have pushed through the muck and grown into something mature and healthy and uniquely beautiful…and those who are (still) angry, (still) hurt, (still) carrying on the way they did at 14 trying to bandage and heal the wounds caused so long ago.

Having a higher number on your driver’s license, I have discovered, does not actually guarantee wisdom. Nor does it guarantee growth in any other sense than aging. Skin will get thin, fat will gather, and bones will ache, but the painful movements of going from immature and unaware to mature and aware (that only happen through painful catalysts because, no, no one grows from that perfect beach trip to Europe) those cannot be measured by numbers. 

Pain brings challenges that no other emotion or situation can. The mighty and brave sometimes earn their badges of honor simply for sticking it out, seeing “it” through.