Twenty-five.

It’s a fairly harmless number on a scale of 1-100. It doesn’t seem particularly significant, or even all that special. A simple little number. One that is preceded by twenty-four and followed by twenty-six.

Twenty-five is just another number.

At least that is what I keep telling myself as I watch the last month of my twenty-fourth year start to slowly slip away.

I’m not scared of getting older, in fact, I am willing to embrace it. I certainly would never again want to be the girl I was at seventeen. Lately though I’ve been plagued with the thoughts of what I thought my life would be at age twenty-five. As much as I treasure the life I have built, this is never what I imagined for myself.

I never had grand plans, mine were always pretty simple. I didn’t need some high-paced career or a massive number written in my check register. I grew up in a very simple but loving home. What we lacked in possessions we made up for in an abundance of love for one another. I may not have had the latest gadget or a brand new car when I turned sixteen; but never once did I doubt how much my family loved me.  They taught me that happiness is where it counts. That no job, decision, or relationship should require you to sacrifice that happiness. So, when I was in high school, and thinking of what my future at twenty-five might look like, it always looked the same.

At that time I desperately wanted to be a journalist, and could very clearly see myself happily working at a job where I got to spend everyday writing. I never wanted to imagine myself married by a certain age, because I always believed that it should happen when it was right; but I certainly imagined myself in a significant relationship. There would be a home or an apartment I decorated for myself, and it would be far, far away from where I grew up with a loyal dog by my side.

It feels incredibly daunting to look at that paragraph and realize I literally have none of those things.

Not a single one.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret the decisions that have led me to this point in my life. I could have put myself into debt and gone to school to become a journalist, but I would have been miserable. I happen to know a lot of journalists, and let me tell you, they don’t exude happiness. That decision alone would have been the biggest regret of my life. I still love writing, and it is one of the best forms of therapy I can find, but I am no journalist, and I never would have cut it.

I won’t lie, the lack of a significant relationship definitely stings. I don’t need a man just to say I have a man, and I won’t lower my standards just so I have a warm body next to me in bed. I suppose I just never expected it to be this tough to find someone worthy of my time. I don’t think I’m a particularly difficult person to love. Given the chance, I would go all in, put everything on the line, and give with my whole heart.

Maybe it will happen, and maybe it won’t.

Either way, my relationship status won’t define who I am.

At any age.

I suppose that none of us really end up where we think we will. Sure, it’s a bit disappointing to realize that I am so incredibly far from the life I imagined myself having at this point. I wish I had a job that had me waking up every morning eager to get to work, and a man lying beside me when I woke up, thrilled to be part of my life. Living in a cute little one bedroom cottage of my own, with a giant German Shepard named Atticus as my loyal sidekick would be a dream come true, but at what price?

What would I have had to give up to get that?

What memories and friendships would disappear to make those things happen?

It’s easy to be disappointed by what you don’t have until you think about what you gained instead. So I’m going to be thankful for all of the beautiful memories and personal relationships I have gained in the first twenty-four years and three hundred thirty eight days of my life. We can imagine our lives turning out however we want, but what really counts is how we actually make it turn out.

If any of that original plan is meant to be, I’ll make it happen.

It’s time to forget about the number on top of the birthday cake next month and just live.

A number doesn’t change your life.

You do.