Technically, since I just turned 22 it means I've spent the past year being 21 but formally and informally I was 22 so I'm just going to say being 22 has treated me fairly well.
In the chronicle of my life, I think years 18-21 represent a time where my self-esteem was at an all-time low. I don't remember being particularly happy or at peace with myself, and a lot of unhappiness during that period I attribute to the low self-esteem I had. Ages 20-21 had their own set of problems and obstacles that were remarkably shitty and seemed like very dark times in comparison to any other year.
22 came and started off a little shaky, and yet as Taylor Swift wrote so fittingly in '22', I was happy, free, confused and lonely, and it was miserable and magical all at the same time.
If I could sum it up, 22 was the year I stopped trying to change myself out of self-hatred or trying to change myself in order for people to accept and like me. That was the magical thing about 22. All of a sudden, I started seriously loving myself a little bit at a time. There was finally some semblance of self-acceptance in my life. With that, it changed the way I viewed people and things, and for once it felt like my heart didn't feel so weary all the time.
With my new-found self-acceptance, 22 taught me lessons about myself, people, and friendship. New friendships were formed and old friendships reinforced. I used to be reckless and quick to burn bridges, but I think I've learnt how to treasure people more now. I still have a long way to go though.
Of course, the magic of 22 was laced with a tinge of misery that adulthood inevitably brought. 22 seemed like the age that signalled, "It's time to stop fucking around and get your damn act together." I realised I really wasn't a kid anymore. I could no longer push to the back of my mind the worries and problems I had, because it was like every single problem on my mind gathered to form an incoming thunderstorm that loomed ahead and was traveling at a speed that made it impossible for me to ignore. And it was confusing, because like I read somewhere, in your early 20s you're too young for anyone to take seriously and you're too old for anyone to feel sorry for you.
Every year I'm closer to the reality of entering the workforce, and yet every year I find myself not any closer to realising what I want to do or what I'm good at. And as a first-year 22-year-old philosophy major, I am now realising I am truly screwed. At 22, I am also now painfully aware that my body is ageing, as I now experience aches and pains I previously thought I was impervious to. Things like having enough money to buy a house or having a partner in life to settle down with have taken on some semblance of importance and urgency at 22, things I thought I would never really be concerned about.
Despite it all, being 22 has filled me with a sense of buoyancy that I've not felt in a long time and for that I am grateful.
Every year I make the same wish that I will always be together with the people who have celebrated my birthday with me, and this year was no different. I celebrated turning 22 with a bunch of good friends, and received well-wishes from a handful of long-time friends and new friends that I like.
It was a good birthday.
Of course, shout out to my momma for carrying me around for 9 months and my parents for taking care of me that I can even write this lol
