I'm less than two weeks away from turning 23. The two year anniversary of my 21st birthday, if you will. My early twenties. The time in my life that I should be able to relate to 257 different BuzzFeed articles about how to "make the best" of these years.
To be honest, when I was a teenager, I imagined a life completely different than the one I lead now.
Expectations: Living in a big city somewhere, trying to "make it big" in Hollywood or working for a magazine in New York, going on dates with a bunch of different guys, getting fancy drinks with friends every night. I wanted to be the 21 year old version of Lauren Conrad in The Hills, much like everyone else in 2006.
Reality: At 22, I'm living in a city only 30 minutes away from where I grew up. I graduated from college and continue to work in said city. I plan on staying in this city for awhile. I'm in a serious relationship. Sometimes I get fancy drinks with friends, but most of the time we just stick to one, and we definitely can't afford diamond martini glass charm bracelet trinkets for each other (Hills reference...c'mon, guys).
Want to know something? And I'm sure you've already figured it out at this point:
I'm so, so happy that my reality is astronomically different than my expectations at 16 years old.
I love living just a hop, skip and a jump away from my parents. I love the friendships I developed in college, and the friendships I continue to grow from high school. I love nights in with Ryan. I love [most days] my steady job. And I'm not just saying that to say it - I genuinely love my calm little life. Because it's mine, and because I love the people in it.
So here's to entering my fourth year of my twenties with a job, great friends, great family, and my amazing-beyond-words boyfriend. Life could be one helluva lot worse. XO
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