November 15 2018 has officially passed and I am officially 22 years old. In the ever so poetic words of the iconic Miss Taylor Swift, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22. Now, I am well aware that this phrase is referenced by almost every fresh twenty-two year old, but it is too emblematic not to bust out on this day of my twenty-second year of life; and you can bet your bottom dollar that a fitting Instagram post with this exact caption would have already made an appearance on my themeless profile by the time the sun sets.
I asked my Mum a few days ago what my next monumental birthday milestone would be; thirty was our agreed upon answer, and I am sorry, but I am just not ready to process that yet, so let’s move on swiftly. To me, twenty-two feels like it will be a comforting year; a year where I’m past all the motions we go through to ‘set-up’ our lives. Think about it. You’ve likely graduated from university, you’ve likely got a decent grip on the person you think you are, you’ve likely got at least a VERY rough idea of the type of future you want, and you’ve finally graduated from that awkward transition from adolescence to adulthood.
I see my twenty-second year of life as this period of self-indulgence. I see myself stress free in comparison to the previous six years I have somehow survived. I see myself taking the time to work on myself in a non-academic sense; working out, focusing on my career and bettering the relationships I currently have whilst delving into new ones. Admittedly, there’s the other part of me who, I guess you could say, wants to rebel? By this I mean spending ridiculous amounts of money on rent in a city where a Friday morning cup of coffee costs £4.5 whilst willingly throwing down a few too many ciders on a Friday night. You are wild Racquel.
I am quite excited for 22 and the year that is ahead. My life is deemed to be a rollercoaster of emotions and experiences as I take one of the biggest leaps of faith I will probably ever take by moving to England. I’ve always found myself following this predetermined path that modern society imposes upon us; finish high school, do your bachelors degree, go travelling, go back to university to do your postgraduate and then get yourself a full time gig. The ‘ideal’ next steps would be to buy a house, get married, have kids… and there’s nothing wrong with that, but as I’ve grown and matured, I’ve found that I would like to put that part on pause and divert from the predetermined, idyllic sequence of events.
Come February 2019 it is very likely that I’ll be friendless in a new city, temporarily unemployed and potentially homeless, living in hotels and Airbnb’s until I’ve found a place to rent in England. For once in my life, I have no set plans other than getting my ass on a plane to London Heathrow. I have literally no idea what I am doing and what my next steps are.
In saying this, I’ve never been more excited.