It’s snowing today. Well, sleeting (mostly) and snowing (slightly). I am twenty-years-old today. I have moved beyond being a teenager, and I am now “in my early 20s.” I don’t feel any different, really. Two decades have gone by so quickly–it’s almost impossible to feel difference in a day–and I can’t imagine how quickly the next two decades will pass by.
In my first twenty years of life, I graduated high school. I fell in love. I got married. In the next twenty years, I’ll have children. I’ll celebrate my years of marriage. I’ll (hopefully) finish college and establish a career. There’s so much I want to do, and I realized something: I don’t need to rush to do it. I’ve always wanted to have kids young, but I know I can wait now. I can wait until I know what I want to do with my life. That may take ten years, but I’ll wait. I want to be sure of myself before I bring children into the world. I want to be sure of myself before I decide on a career.
I’ve got a long way to go before I figure myself out. For once, I’m okay with that.
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