I used to love my birthday. I’d go to bed excited that when I wake up, it’d be one day closer to my birthday—MY day, the one day out of the year to be showered in gifts, sent emoji-filled birthday messages, and pardoned to stuff my face with all of my favorite foods.
I no longer feel that excitement anymore. I wish I did, and sometimes I delude myself into thinking I do, but I don’t. It’s like when you find out that Santa was your parents all along and the magic of waking up on Christmas morning dulled to a dim glimmer (Santa is real, kids!). And then you start earning your own money and realizing that you can buy a lot of things you want yourself. In place of eagerness, dread has come to greet me and I wish I could just pretend I didn’t hear the doorbell, turn off the lights and TV, and act as though no one is home.
I’m turning 26. And I was reminded recently by a 22 y/o friend of mine, am closer to 30 than 20. I haven’t hopped jobs after every two years like I thought I would, or lived in a studio apartment in New York, or backpacked Southeast Asia, or tried on several relationships, like I thought I was supposed to.
When I hear “doing twenties right”, this is what I’d think. A series of thrilling adventures in service of living young, wild, and free. But this makes no sense. It’s extremely unstable. And the more I think about it, I probably got this idea from a rom-com.
Here’s a more practical view: doing twenties right is building a foundation for yourself—financially, socially, and emotionally—and setting a new baseline in real world conditions that you get to compare yourself to every year. Take what you know you love, and pull it forward into next year’s version of yourself. Learn from what you don’t like, and discard it. Over time, you start to develop deep reassurance and peace in who you are.
When I was 22, I thought I was going to have an illustrious career and rise up the ranks to a shiny ‘Director’ or above title and make a shit ton of money. But with every new Director I had, I understood the less commonly acknowledged sacrifices you make on the job. As a leader, you have higher expectations: a reputation to protect, professionalism to uphold, a duty to offer (sometimes glib) praise on people’s work, at the cost of authenticity, honesty, and genuine connection. I mean, fuck, I like to swear because sometimes that feels like an appropriate, authentic response to a matter. Like when you accidentally send a private message to the group in Zoom chat. Fuck. You just can’t say that as a leader because it’s not classy even if it’s real.
Throughout 24 and 25, I’ve experienced a lot of Game of Thrones-esque maneuvers at work. At one point, some of my rotational product manager friends started disappearing and some old teammates’ accounts got deactivated and we had to pretend like we didn’t notice at all. At another point, I got added to a meeting called ‘org update’ and was told my Director was ‘leaving the company to seek other opportunities’ and I got reshuffled to a new team. There was a big layoff, and many of my work friends and colleagues left, leaving the pulse of the company to a murmur. It all feels dishonest. All of the doublespeak. Each wave that battered me against the rock only hammered home the conviction that the only way out is financial independence.
But see, look how far I’ve come! I’ve learned a thing or two about myself, in the trenches of the real world, that was enough to knock my life path out of its original orbit. So fuck the cultural script. Fuck the narrative that our twenties have to be a series of high-stakes dramas to be considered valid. If you want a balanced life that brings steady joy, then own that choice. Your transformation won’t be flashy—it’s not designed to garner many oohs and ahs. But how you move about the world isn’t for anyone other than yourself.
On the flip side, perhaps you do want the exhilarating life, one replete with passport stamps and adventure sports. Then own that choice too. But recognize that you might be trading in foundational stability for peak experience and the thrill.
All to say, both are valid ways to live life. At this point in life, I’m choosing to go on the first path because that’s just what I want. It’s unsexy and mundane. But it’s stable, it’s predictable, and it’s giving me a solid and secure footing to continue going about the world and sustainably seek out, discover, and appreciate the everyday beauty and joy found within and all around the mundane.
And that, in itself, is something to be excited for at 26.
Small moments that sparked joy in the past year 👯♀️
