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To tell you the truth, I started blogging because I had no one to talk to.
In high school, my psychology teacher had us make these ‘goals’. Like: what were our goals 2 years from now, 5 years from now, at the age of 25, at the age of 30? (something along those lines) At two years I think I said something like, “be attending college”. At 5 years I said, “graduate college”. At the age of 25 I said, and I remember this distinctly, “have a successful career, be married, start a family, be buying a home”.
Guess what?! I’m 25, and those three things scare the crap out of me.
When I was younger, I looked at 25 as almost 30. And 30 was old. I thought I would have my life together, have a big bank account via an amazing career, and be decorating a nursery.What a fairytale.
What’s the truth?
-I’ve spent countless years and dollars on a major that I am no longer really interested in. And, oh the debt.
-I’ve moved 10 times in the past 8 years. Which leads me to this: what successful career? I’ve worked in numerous restaurants, in retail, a bakery, an elderly care facility, I’ve been a nanny, a substitute, a sign language interpreter (something I can accredit college for), and now a “para professional” at an elementary school. All of which have only helped me barely make ends meet.
-Although I have met the love of my life of four years now, we aren’t married. And aren’t ready to be in that next stage of our lives yet (that’s another post for a different day). I thought 25 was a perfect age to be married. Now, the thought scares me to death.
So, although this one isn’t a success either, it’s something that I am very okay with.
-Dirty diapers? No. My mom had me when she was 30. Growing up I always thought that was old to have a baby. I wanted to be done having kids by then. So that meant I had to start having kids earlier than that ( the biggest fairy tale of them all). I am 25. I have 3 dogs. One cat. And a boyfriend. Throwing a child in that hot mess makes me want to run away and dig a hole to live in. I’m not ready for that. Like, at all. I find myself constantly defending my position of still feeling too young to have children (This can also be attached with the “not married’ topic in a different post for another day.)
So again, not a success, but I’m happy with that.
Well dang Savannah, what the hell HAVE you accomplished?!
Oh, you mean besides debt?
Really, I don’t know. I know that I’ve seen some of the most beautiful country that Nevada and California has to offer. I know that I have met some pretty amazing people in towns I would have never even thought to visit. I know that staying in one place your entire life is no way to live. I know that sangria tastes better at 7500 ft at the edge of a crystal clear lake. I know that you don’t need a lot of friends in your life, just a couple good ones. I know that I can go to Walmart in a moments notice and not have to worry about nap time or packing a diaper bag. I know that I can spend every single day with my boyfriend without having anyone else to talk to, and still not want to kill him. I know that I am not where I thought I was going to be at 25, and that’s okay.
So no, on paper I am not successful. And I might not be you’re definition of successful either. I can say that I’ve made a pretty good trade though. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that. That materialistic things are less important than a view that can have absolutely no price tag. And sometimes I think the bills outweigh the views. But I know that everything happens for a reason. I know that I was given this crazy gypsy life because I can handle it. And I know that it has and will forever shape me into the woman I’m supposed to be. I know that I am where I am supposed to be.
I am 25, broke, and living life with a bottle of wine in one hand and a wild flower in the other.
I am living.