Tag Archive: #quarterlifecrisis


What's My Age

I didn’t cry on my birthday this year! It seems like a silly thing to be excited about, but for me it was a bit of an achievement. I have taken to crying on my birthday in recent years. I’m not talking delicate tears; I’m referring to uncontrollable, need to pause in order to take a couple deep breaths, ugly sobs. As of late, birthdays have not been easy for me.

I’m a very reflective person, sometimes to an extreme that is to my detriment, and birthdays present the perfect opportunity to look back on the past year and rip it to shreds. Did I accomplish enough? Touch enough people? Learn, grow, and change enough? Did I do what I set out to do? Being the self-critical person that I am, the answer is always, no. No, no, no. I didn’t.

So what made this birthday different, you ask? Was this year somehow more spectacular? Did I find a way to become more secure in where I am and what I am doing? The answer is no, I did not. Also, what I failed to mention is though I didn’t cry on my birthday, I did cry the day after. But hey, holding out an additional 24 hours was a big step for me.

The great thing about being ambitious is you always have a reason to keep going, keep pushing. The worst thing about being ambitious is it can make the state of contentment difficult to obtain. I guess I always thought by the age I am now life would look a little different. Twenty-seven seemed so old when I was a kid. It seemed like the age people are when they are already married and are thinking about having a child if they haven’t just had one already. The age when they have completed a master’s degree and have been accepted into a doctorate program, the age when they own their own piece of property and can actually afford to fill it with furniture. The age when…wait a minute.

The more I reflect on my childhood ambitions the more silly and unrealistic they seem and the more I realize it is time to replace childhood ambitions with 27 year-old ones.  No, my life doesn’t look the way I think it should or even the way I want it to most days, but some way, some how, by the grace of God, I still think I may be accomplishing just enough, touching just enough people, and learning growing and changing just enough. All I can do now, I suppose, is rest in the confidence of God’s perfect timing.

Don’t be fooled. I don’t have that contentment thing mastered. 27 still has a lot of ugly, uncontrollable sobs left in it, I’m sure. Seems to me, this year might require some extra patience. Patience in my spirit as I wait for things to unfold as everything feels so out of time and out of place and patience from family and friends as I fight to figure all this stuff out. After all, 27 has some great things going for it and I’d hate to miss the year I’ve been given spending all my time daydreaming about a year that doesn’t exist.Image

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I have been asking myself that question a lot lately. Sometimes I ask it in disappointment as I question my calling and why nothing is going as smoothly as I wanted it to go; other times I ask it overwhelmed by the greatness of God and the work He is doing despite my shortcomings.

I was a very scared child. The list of things that terrified me was unending. It is funny looking back on it now, but at the time, there was nothing comical about always being paralyzed by the next nightmare creeping around the corner. There were times I asked my mother if adults were ever scared and more specifically if she was ever afraid of anything. She told me she wasn’t afraid of things like the monsters in her closet anymore, although every once and a while she would have a bad dream about ducks, geese, or chickens due to her fear of birds. Now, she feared the less tangible things like the loss of financial stability or the safety of her children. My young mind couldn’t understand how those were legitimate fears. The walking baby-spider-head from Toy Story and images I had painted in my mind of the boy from Where the Red Fern Grows falling on his axe seemed far scarier than the things my mother had described. I was sure that age was the magical cure to my irrational fears. There would be no more sleepless nights that were only fixed by crawling into bed with someone who loved you or prayers that the daylight would stay forever because you couldn’t handle the darkness of night.

Age seemed like the magical cure to my constant anxiety. I remember what it was like to be a kid and have a clear picture in my mind of what adulthood would look like. The ability to call the shots in my own life seemed so appealing. When I had the chance to choose, I would wear whatever I wanted, dye my hair crazy colors, cake on layers of makeup, and decorate my room however I pleased. Boy, was I wrong. Now, I have an apartment I have no energy or desire to decorate, a love of tattoos, piercings, clothes, makeup, and hairstyles that don’t match my career aspirations, and a completely new set of anxieties, fears, and neuroses from those I had in childhood. I thought I would reach this point where eventually I had all the answers, but each year brings more questions than ever.

I’ve never been one to buy into the American dream, but right about now it would be easier to justify. Instead, I spend my time explaining what a resident director does, why anyone of the age of twenty-six would choose to live in a “dorm” with college students, how many more semesters it will take to finish my counseling degree, how such a “cool” girl could be single for so long, and who actually enjoys driving a Toyota Yaris. There are days I am tired and want to give in to the nagging questions, the secret longings, and the image of “togetherness” I had in my childhood, but I can’t. Something won’t let me. Something still tells me that everyday can still hold the outrageous, the extraordinary, the mystery that whispers, “Keep going. In the end it will all be worth it.” So here I am stuck in the “in-between,” caught in my own personal quarter life crisis, and I’m waiting and trusting Him as I watch how it all plays out.