Yes, that's six days Before Birthday. As in, six days before my 22nd. As in the beginning of my quarter life crisis and inevitable loss of the remaining speck of self-respect I had (the majority of which is forever lost in a sea of Smirnoff Ice, bands and my 17 year old self). I'm anticipating a lot of change, a lot of stress and a lot of staring at magazines full of Miley Cyrus, Kaya Scodelario and Demi Lovato wondering "when the hell did I get so old?"
Gone will be the days of youthful joy, of illicit tumbles in cupboards at underaged parties, of wandering about in nothing more than a Victoria's Secret-esque nighty and fishnet tights. Gone is the novelty of knowing that I've been legal to drink in America for a year (having spent the past 359 days not being in America, excitement seems kind of fruitless), and gone is the comfort in knowing it's okay to fancy the 18 year old in the year below at college.
As the door of Youth closes, the door of Supposed Maturity opens; cocktail parties with the girls, dates in Jazz Clubs with handsome strangers, and attending the baby showers/weddings of my peers with a genuine look of joy on my face. Theorically speaking, of course.
In reality, the cocktails the girls and I will be drinking are most likely going to be taken in via a tumbler each and straw as opposed to a dainty glass, the only dates I attend will still be those illicit fumbles in the corner of clubs/cupboard at a party (hey, I never said I was classy) and the baby showers/weddings I attend? Yes, the smile will be there but behind that will be a glaze of body-freezing panic and the inevitable cry of "what's wrong with me?!"
Of course that's not to say I want to be married or want children (the thought genuinely makes me feel quite ill) - hell, I know I'm freaking out but that's a bit too far. It's just one of those things, isn't it? You become another year older and watch as those around you grow into themselves, into new lives, new relationships and the inevitable pangs of pastures new and greener grass surface. But it would be nice to have someone to cuddle once in a while.
On one of my more recent stops to Panic Station (an all too regular occurrance recently), I found myself looking into a different set of why and what's in an attempt to combat the crippling fears that seemed to grasp me at least twice a week, instead of courting them. Turns out that for as much as I day dream and wish, I'm not so good at putting things into practice. Want that pair of shoes in a magazine? I circle the item, do the price check and think of other outfits that would go nicely with them (from other magazine pages of course), but do I buy? No, I do not.
Dream for years and years of going on a dream, sunfilled bikini holiday? I do the price checks, look up locations, check the nightlife, the culture, the hotels, but do I book? Nay, can't say that I do.
See that guy over there that I've been admiring for months? He's sitting by himself, he's drinking his coffee, and there's a great big opening for me to do something about it but do I take it? ...you see where I'm going with this.
It's exhausting. Not to mention frustrating as hell. And it's this type of thing which gives me the biggest fear in the midst of my panic; am I really going to be that bone idle, miserable for misery's sake bitter old woman who lives on "what if"s and "what could have been"s? Okay, I may be scared about turning 22 but I can't think of anything more terrifying than getting to 92 having achieved nothing and knowing it was my own fault.
So I've decided on a plan to combat this.
This year is going to be the year of the Yes.
Invite to a party? Yes. Asked out on a date (ha)? Don't mind if I do. Want to go on a holiday? I'll have two of those please. And it's not going to be limited to that; if any opportunities arise, either every day or out of this world, I'm going to take it. I'm going to shake this year up and try and make 22 everything but the quarter life crisis I'm anticipating. Year 22 is the one I want to be proud of, whether it's in having as much fun as possible, in working as hard as possible, or even just growing to love myself and my life (because really, I'm doing pretty sweet, regardless of what my subconcious tells me), I am determined to make this one worth it. I have spent far too many days being scared of it to make it anything other than the best year I can. Provided it won't land me in jail, with courtcases, diseases or a string of enemies in my wake, I will be saying yes to anything that flies in my direction.
Who knows, maybe I'll actually achieve something along the way.
So, year of the Yes. Starts in t minus 6 days, and I'm not scared of it any more.
(that's what I'm telling myself at least).
