The pressure to celebrate 25 is almost as frightening as turning 25. I enjoyed the idea of getting older at almost every inch of my life. Until now. But in all honesty, that's nothing new. You've heard every 25 woe and if you haven't had the chance to, well, get ready for it. 25 will come abruptly, faster than you can ever be prepared for, and filled with 25 years worth of embarrassing photos (like the one of you butt-naked in a bathtub...I won't say how old), regrettable decisions (but no take-backs), way too many shitty friends and the one or two friends you still have standing, and the success you’ve achieved (you managed to stay alive and didn't die from microwave radiation poisoning...congratulations!). I told a stranger—a man I barely knew the name of—how old I was turning and he reassured me by saying "well, it's really over for you after 30..." Comforting. I can't wait to combust at the turn of 30 years. So how does one celebrate that? Celebrate many losses, painful gains, being able to rent a freaking car now (a very sarcastic “yay!”), and just plain ol’ being old af.
There were many options...and the suffocating pressure to do something huge. My 24 year old friend said, "understandably so...you're turning 25." Gulp. Do I throw a huge party? Rooftop? House party? Airbnb? If you really think about all those parties you've ever done—hosting sucks! You can't even enjoy your own birthday. You have to catch up with your high school friends all while making sure all of your different groups get along and not rip each other apart. Everyone must be drunk (but you and if you do get drunk...the rush of guilt ensues because everyone must be happy even at the cost of your happiness.) No, no, I do that every year. This year must be different. I AM DIFFERENT. I am ripe. I want to enjoy myself for once.
Do I do 25 things? I made a list of 25 things. It's literally sitting in my phone. I even tweeted it. Some are really really good. Some are ehhhh. But then I decided it was just way too much work. I’ll save it for another birthday year when I want to torture myself instead. I don't even have 25 free days in one year. Nor enough 0's in my bank account to ride a helicopter and 24 other equally expensive activities. I don't have enough guts to get anymore very rushed, VERY PERMANENT, reckless tattoos just so I can tell my future grandchildren or grand-doggies that "Mommy did 25 things for her 25th birthday and this cherry tattoo is one of them." Ugh, gross. Future me would punch me now.
OR, I can do nothing. Expect nothing. It's essentially just another day, right? Why put so much pressure on another day on the calendar. Why be selfish? Why? FUCK. Who am I kidding? The control freak, inner-alcoholic, any-excuse-to-do-dumb-shit, Lit-Lynn will never forgive herself if she let her 25th birthday go without any stories to tell.
So...what will I do? Honestly, I don’t know. But I am one year older, a quarter century into existence, and I am surprisingly, absolutely, very happy. I’ve accomplished a lot. And although, I would argue tooth and nail that my accomplishments are not worth celebrating, my friends would differ. And for once, I’m not going to argue with them. I have grown so much. I have so many thoughtful, beautiful, and inspiring friends. And I am here, typing away, sculpting and chipping away at my feelings to all of three people who actually read this. And it’s okay.
So again, what am I going to do? Whatever the fuck I want to do tomorrow. And carry it over to EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. this year.