27 is not usually considered any sort of special milestone. At most it marks the official entrance into the “late 20s” category, which of course is nothing to write home about. I also had a co-worker tell me that I should really hurry up and line up some sort of husband situation soon because, “21, 22, you look nice, boys like you, 25 pretty good still, 28 (insert something like a fart noise here), over. no good.” So I guess in addition to entering my late 20’s, I’m also now one year away from my “expiration date”. Luckily since I still get mistaken for 19, I think that technically means I have 9 more years?
Jokes aside, 27 feels pretty in-between. Cue Britney’s, “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman”.
I’m over the novelties of marathon drinking although I still haven’t learned to say no to that last drink of the evening even though I know I will be sorry…but at least I have stopped eating burritos the size of a small child at the end of the night.
My collection of “going out” shirts has dwindled and on a related note I no longer set foot in Forever 21. Now a nice little Saturday shopfest consists of accompanying my girlfriends to West Elm to help them pick out throw pillows for their couch (based on a carefully selected color scheme). Maybe swing by Ikea afterward, I don’t know, don’t know if there will be enough time.
(But who are we kidding there is always time for Swedish meatballs).
I still tear it up on the dance floor in my skinny jeans on a Thursday night when the opportunity presents itself, but I don’t feel bad staying at home in my soft pants to watch Hulu on a Saturday night. And let’s face it, while I like to cut loose, footloose, my favorite kind of party these days usually has the word ‘dinner’ in front of it.
I haven’t quite found that empowering sense of self-awareness that comes in the 30’s (or so I’m told), but I’m starting to feel comfortable in my skin. I realize that this schema I have in my head for what it means to be a responsible well-adjusted adult is not actually far from my reality. And it does not have to include cubicles and business casual attire or lack mid-day ice cream runs and office practical jokes.
But perhaps the best gift of all that my 27th year has brought is that I have finally shed my early 20’s, post grad, what-am-i-going-to-do-with-my-life?!!? angst. I feel comfortable with the idea that it’s not going to be some great epiphany that comes if I just think or work hard enough. It’s not like I will decide who I want to be and what I want to do and then life starts. It’s an evolving concept. And that no longer scares me, it excited me. So here’s to 27, you only get to be a cube three times in your lifetime, you gotta enjoy it.