I am turning 25 on Friday. This is strange. Interestingly, Hessen just booked a flight to D.C. for next month, and so my natural thought progression was that when I met her, she was 25, and I remember thinking how old that seemed.
My life, for a 25-year-old, is pretty on track. I am still having fun every day, but now that fun sometimes takes the form of laughing at tort cases, sampling champagnes, and gray-hair-hunting. I’ve found a few, by the way. Gray hairs, that is. In general, though, I prefer now to then. I am on my way to professional success; things feel right. This is comforting.
Occasionally, my thoughts turn to marriage, and it seems about time. This is scary. When I say 25 out loud, or in my head for that matter, my brain says “whoa, plenty of time to worry about marriage; now is not the time.” But something else in me disagrees. Perhaps I am just tired of dating and crave a serious long-term relationship in general. But I’ve had such little success with those in the past, it doesn’t seem like the answer. I realize long-term relationships come as a precurser to marriage. This worries me. Maybe I will never make it to the finish line.
Regardless, I’m enjoying the ride more than expected. Things are okay.