Twenty nine, as the youths say,* hit different.

_{*I cannot confidently say whether or not the youths still use this expression. My guess is that it went out of style somewhere circa 2018.}

For me, 28 began the transition of awareness, the understanding that my twenties would eventually come to a close. 

But if 28 planted the seed, 29 is the fertilizer rapidly catalyzing the upending of youth and the sense of mortality that that might entail.

Up until this point, there has existed an implicit reality that “my life is ahead of me” and a freedom to abstain from any permanent decision-making under the guise that “I have time to figure it out.”

However, with 29 comes the reality that 30 is no longer a far off concept, that in less than a year, I will enter that ambiguous vision of “adult” that had always promised some semblance of wisdom and stability, an understanding of the world and my place in it.

When my parents were 29 they were married and owned a home. When my grandparents were 29, they had five children. I, on the other hand, live in an apartment I share with two adults I found on the internet. I own one pan and zero forks.

Though I do not yearn for these alternative lives, turning 29 has made me acutely aware of the proximity of 30 and the reality that my twenties, and therefore my youth, my neuroplasticity, and my potential to achieve some ambiguous sense of “prodigious greatness” are about to come to an end.

Things like switching careers or finding a husband or learning to skateboard* no longer feel like possibilities achievable in some ambiguous “someday” but rather immediate decisions I feel I am already late in making.

^{*I have recently come to the conclusion that I am simply too old to learn to skateboard and that is perfectly acceptable.}

I am not so naive and melodramatic as to suggest that the choices I have made up to this point have cemented my existence into an immovable path hurdling towards mediocrity, but I am suggesting that the safety net of indecision is rapidly deteriorating, the weathered strands revealing that it has been a delusion the whole time.

As I hurdle towards 30, I feel the doors of potential lives slamming shut in a way that is much louder and more concrete than ever before. There no longer exists this sense of possibility, that nothing is off limits.

For example, up to this point in my life, I have not chosen to go to medical school. I have never specifically chosen not to go to medical school, but because I have not actively pursued such a path, my decision has been made. 

It is technically not too late to become a doctor if I determine that that is what I am called to do, but that journey looks quite different than if I had come to that revelation at 18. Or 23. Or even 26.

The landscape of potential suddenly feels significantly less vast, having shrunken in conjunction with the realization that one must eventually choose a path and invest.

Though I have always understood this idea conceptually, I have rarely taken action in narrowing my scope; those decisive “nos" required to carve out a path deeply dedicated to the “yeses.”

And I am beginning to experience, both physically and psychologically, the inevitable calcification of the reality I have created.

As I have stepped into 29, I have been haunted by a creeping feeling that my twenties were wasted floundering.

In seemingly every realm of my life, I feel like I’m too late, that I’ve wasted time immersed in the fear of commitment and have failed to develop any particular skill or expertise that is useful in the world.

I moved to California when I was 23. Up until that point, I had taken the “right steps,” steps that led me down a path (though I couldn’t admit it) I wasn't particularly interested in walking. 

I was impatient to become important and impressive, oblivious to what that actually means or how much time and dedication that takes. My tunnel vision of "supposed to" had blinded me to the existence of alternative paths and the past several years have been a frantic attempt at overcorrection.

The tactical bullseye that comes with an aim as pompous and ambiguous as “make a difference” shifts and blurs continually, constantly leading me to ramble in this state of pursuit until it gets too hard or the next shiny object comes along.

Instead of climbing up a focused ladder of achievement, mastery, and progress, I instead flit across an amalgamation of activities in a horizontal zig zag of mediocrity, lagging behind my peers in seemingly every arena. 

And it feels like the further I go down any one path without pivoting, the more anxious I feel about the potential lives I’m leaving behind. And yet if I pivot, I continue to increase the zig zagging entropy that has gotten me to this point of existential pinball. 

It has now been two months since my birthday, since I came face to face with the psychological implications of my proximity to 30, and I have comfortably settled in.

Looking at my life today, my current existence is primarily the result of active choices rather than that of conformity to the inertia of the status quo and as someone often paralyzed by even the most inconsequential of decisions, that is something I am proud of.

Particularly because that hasn't always been the case.

Much of my time spent in Orange County felt like trying to exist in a world I never wanted to be a part of, making the best of a life where I didn't really belong.

There are parts of me that feel like those years attempting to adapt to the wrong environment were wasted and that I have fallen behind my peers in this game of life. But I try not to dwell on those feelings because I know that chapter was an integral stepping stone in a much longer story.

Though the day to day of a life “in progress” can feel like constantly treading in the frustration of “not there yet,” when I look at my life today compared to what it looked like five years ago, I oscillate between excited and intrigued at the direction in which it is headed.

Historically, I've conceptualized life as a dirt road, full of twists, turns, and potholes. I had no idea where the path was leading, but I figured there did exist some semblance of a path.

And I think there are lives out there where this imagery applies.

However, my current reality feels more like a sailboat in open waters; I have the tiller in hand and my eyes set in a general direction, but also a much more thorough understanding of and comfort with my utter (or, dare I say rudder - sorry, I'll leave) lack of control and the ambiguity of where life might lead.

Whereas I used to exhaust myself attempting to orient the boat in a specific direction and frustratedly fighting against the winds impacting my trajectory, I now lean into those winds, attempting to utilize the skills and opportunities I have to take advantage of the vast expanse set before me.

As someone who thrives in a world of “right answers” and prescribed steps, this expanse has historically been terrifyingly unnavigable, leading to a paralysis of clinging to the “known” and the “supposed to.”

As I have (very slowly) transitioned to steering this boat with intentionality rather than shying away from the fear of the unknown, I have found pockets of “groove,” things that seem to work, that feel like what I'm supposed to be doing.

I have no idea what these waters will entail, but I suppose I'll keep tacking against the wind (okay sorry, I will actually leave now) as I continue to figure it out.