27, overlooked, and winging it
It’s June 14th, 2020 and exactly nine minutes ago I turned twenty-seven. Yo, that’s old haha. I remember thinking twenty-one was old, and that feels like fifteen minutes ago. Where did the time even go?! (That’s something only an old person would say).
When I turned twenty-five, I remember thinking it was such a pivotal birthday. A quarter century or a quarter life crisis. My bones started to decalcify, I stopped producing collagen, and it officially became appropriate for me to use, “anti-aging night cream.” I could no longer feign this juvenile innocence of being, “so young,” anymore. All of a sudden, I was pretty rarely the youngest person in the room. High school girls I grabbed coffee with would say, “I mean you’re twenty-five, what would you do?” As if, being twenty-five meant I had access to some sage wisdom.
Your twenties are weird. People always used to tell me to, “Not get married in your twenties.” Which, I thought was total crap. “You change too much in your twenties,” they would say. I’m not here to tell you to not get married in your twenties. Some of my best friends are both in their twenties and also married, and they’re crushing it! But you do change a lot in your twenties. I’ve only been twenty-seven for eighteen minutes now and I can tell you that in my six years of being a, “twenty-something,” I’ve been at least five different people. When I was twenty, I was so sick I genuinely wanted to die, that’s a story for another time though. When I was twenty-one, I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher. When I was twenty-two, I had no idea what I wanted to be. When I was twenty-three, I wanted to be a campus Pastor. When I was twenty-four, I wanted to be a world-renowned speaker/preacher. When I was twenty-five, I wanted to plant churches all over the world. When I was twenty-six, well, I guess I was twenty-six, twenty-two minutes ago, but I really wasn’t sure what I wanted to be at all. I mean I still wanted to be a speaker, and a pastor, and a church planter, but I also wanted to be a writer, and I’d love to act again, and I’d love to produce TV shows, and real estate sounds fun…
And now I’m twenty-seven, and I have less of an idea of where I’m headed than I’ve ever had before. Actually, that’s a lie, I haven’t known how things would turn out a lot of times in my life, but for the first time, I have literally no plans. I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m just kind of winging it. So, there are like two personality types reading this. The first would read that I’m, “just kind of winging it,” and think, “Oh God, another dreamer, hopelessly aimless.” And the other would think, “Man that’s so cool that she’s chasing her passions and not just chasing security.”
The truth is, “winging it,” is way less sexy than it sounds. You know those people that move to foreign countries on a whim without first securing a job, or a place to live, or having any kind of plan really. Well I never saw myself as one of those people. I like plans. I like being prepared. I pack like fifty Q-Tips in my toiletry bag for a two-day trip. You just never know if your shampoo is gonna burst open and spill all over your fifty Q-Tips and render forty-five of them useless. That happened to me one time, and I’ve over packed Q-Tips ever since. I feel security in knowing that even if something went wrong, I’d still have a plan.
I start my packing list at least a week before I actually pack and I even include, “socks and underwear,” on that list. Those seem like difficult things to forget, but I don’t trust myself enough to remember it all, so I write everything down. That way, as I roll my suitcase out the door for my six am flight, I can check off everything on that list, and rest easy knowing that I have my kindle, and its charger, and my allergy pills, and my airpods, and that weird neck pillow I like to take on planes. Being prepared and having a plan for the potentiality of the turbulence life can bring, calms me down.
So, how does all of this tie in? Well, when I was twenty-five, I wrote myself a birthday poem. Weird, I know. But, no one else was gonna write me one, and it felt like a good way to put into words my intentions for that year. A quarter century seemed like a big deal, but that poem is locked up on an old computer of mine that died before I could back it all up on iCloud or a hard drive. Lesson number one of being an adult is, back everything up somewhere. But I do remember one line from the poem very vividly. In fact, I’ve thought about these words a lot over the last few months or so. I can’t seem to get them out of my head. If you read the whole poem, these words would seem out of place, but I felt so strongly as I wrote it, and I knew that even if they were out place, they deserved to be included.
At twenty-five, unsure of what the next year would hold, I wrote to myself, “I hope you cry tears of joy when others find love, and not when you don’t.”
I keep thinking about those words though. “I hope you cry tears of joy when others find love, and not when you don’t.” Like, why did I even write that? I mean, it sounds nice. Of course you want to be happy for people when they get things and you don’t. I’ve never wanted to be selfish with my celebration. When someone I don’t even particularly like gets the very thing I wanted, I want to be as happy for them as I would be for me. I guess that line didn’t really mean a ton to me when I wrote it, but two years later, I think about it all the time.
It’s not about love though. I’m single and honestly really enjoying it. I’m not in a rush to fall in love and get married at all, so it’s not just a love thing. But it’s about duality.
A few weeks ago, I got a call from my old boss letting me know that they were moving in another direction and that I wasn’t being hired for a position I really wanted. Two minutes after that call, I got a Facetime from one of my friends who had given birth like three hours prior. During that Facetime I got another call from a friend who had been hired for the job I was passed up for. Then later that day, I had a phone call with another friend, and due to some unfortunate Covid work circumstances, we would no longer be able to live together. I had not even two minutes to process the disappointment I felt before being thrust into excitement for the people I love, and not wanting anyone to feel guilty, or pity me.
I sat on those calls and withheld tears as I told them how excited I was for them, and how proud of them I was, and how much they deserved this, and they do. They do deserve it. I have the most incredible friends in the entire world, and that’s a fact. But watching my friends get married, and promoted, and hired, and have kids, and see their innermost dreams realized, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit, overlooked. Like God, or the universe was holding out on me. All my future plans had fallen through in four phone calls, and I didn’t know what to do.
It was so weird, but on those phone calls, all I could think about was the duality of it all. I was so happy for my friends. Like genuinely, to my core happy. And not one part of my heart felt jealous. I know that God doesn’t withhold good things from me, and if I didn’t get that job, or that relationship, or that whatever, it’s because I wasn’t supposed to. Theologically, internally, I know that to be true. But even though I was sincerely happy for the people I love, and even though I wasn’t jealous or envious, I was still sad. I was happy for them, but I was sad for me. And that, is a weird duality to live in.
When I was twenty-five, I wanted to be a proverbial saint. I wanted to be as happy when my enemies got what I wanted as I would be for myself. I wanted my heart to be as pure, and celebratory, and loving, and trusting of Jesus as possible, and I still do. But, if I could rewrite that poem, at twenty-seven, I think I would say, “I hope you cry tears of joy when others find love, and I hope you let yourself cry when you don’t too.” I’ve always put a lot of pressure on myself to handle situations as perfectly and maturely as possible. I just wanted to be blameless, I guess. And yes, I think you should trust God, or whatever you trust, and believe that good things are gonna get to you, in the right time, and the right way. You just live your life; you’re not waiting for anything. But I think it’s ok to be happy for the people you love and for a moment to be sad for yourself. Don’t stay there and throw yourself a pity party, but repressed feelings don’t help anyone, least of all you.
Research shows that suppressing emotions actually endangers your health and well-being, both physically and psychologically. A renowned article says that, “Emotional suppression might decrease outward expression of emotion but not the inner emotional experience. In other words, suppression doesn’t make the emotion go away, it just stays inside you causing more pain.” It says the best way to regulate unpleasant emotions is to, “Feel the feeling in real time.” Don’t put it off, don’t suppress it, don’t fight it, don’t rationalize it. Don’t be afraid of it, don’t feel ashamed of it, don’t ruminate on it. Just breathe and allow yourself to feel what you’re feeling. It doesn’t have to make sense, it won’t always be logical, and it will pass.
I think it’s important that we allow ourselves to acknowledge how we feel about things, even when the things we feel aren’t the most desirable emotions. It’s okay to be happy for others and sad for yourself. One thing doesn’t negate the other, they can happily coexist. In fact, I think sometimes, to get the place where you say, “Ok, I didn’t get what I wanted, and nothing turned out like I thought, but I trust that I’m exactly where I need to be, and life is good.” I think to get there, sometimes you have to start with, “I’m really sad, and I feel overlooked, and I’m disappointed, and I have no idea what comes next.”
Sometimes, life blindsides you, and all fifty of your overpacked Q-Tips end up soggy, and soaked in shampoo, and honestly that sucks. Sometimes even your second back up plan will fall through. Sometimes it will seem like everyone else’s life is progressing and yours is at a standstill, but that’s ok. And even when you think you’ve got a plan, life could change in an ordinary instant, so you’re kind of always, just winging it.
Twenty-seven is weird. It feels mature and somewhat geriatric. I bought myself a posture correcting harness for my birthday this year, my gums are sore from the dental work I had done today, and I drank a superfood smoothie for dinner, so I’m basically a hundred lol. But I don’t know, honestly, I’m just grateful to be alive. This isn’t my favorite moment of my whole life, I have no plans, and no idea what comes next. But, I’m here, and I got to spend the night writing, and I’m gonna eat chocolate peanut butter cake all day tomorrow, and there’s something really exciting about not knowing anything. Because when you don’t know what’s next, anything could happen. So, happy birthday to me, on my own blog. Wherever you are, my birthday wish this year, is that you’re well, and that life would be kind to you. And I hope if I ever get everything I want, I don’t feel all that different than I do now. Life is really interesting, even when you feel sad, and it’s the breadth of experience that makes it so fulfilling.