open letter to my twenties

Dear Twenties,

As I am sure you know, the time has come for us to part company.  It’s been a long, lovely ride, but this is my stop and I am getting off.  Goodbye to you, suckas!

Don’t get me wrong, there were a lot of things about you that were truly good:  I gave up vegetarianism, for one, and every piece of bacon I now eat tastes just that much more delicious for its long absence.  I was For Real In Love for the first time, which was also a pretty amazing thing.  In retrospect, however, I’d have to say that my relationship with bacon has worked out much better for everyone involved. Except the pigs, of course.

In my twenties I think I also got the friendship thing right:  I managed to keep the really important friendships and ditch the toxic ones.  Learning to recognize the toxic ones alone was a major accomplishment.  For some reason, it took me a while to figure out that if someone’s basic function in your life is to make you feel shitty about yourself, then that person is not a friend.  An ingenious insight, I know.

On the other hand, a lot about you straight up blew, Twenties.  The long-nourished infatuations with people who didn’t love me back (so much wasted time!), the exchange of running for sitting at a desk or on a couch, the mounting student loan and credit card debt — those are fun little mistakes I plan never to repeat.

I hate to tell you Twenties, but I think the Thirties are going to kick your ass up one side and down the other.  I’m no longer a student now, for the first time since before kindergarten.  I have a terminal degree and a real adult job and a dog.  I am at the beginning of my real life now, looking forward to establishing myself professionally and starting to earn a Serious Adult Salary (soon, we hope, right?).

The friendships keep getting better and better and I’m sure the relationships will, too, now that I know what I want out of them.  One lesson learned, relationship-wise, for example: It is not okay if your boyfriend thinks that sitting on his couch smoking pot while you watch him play Nintendo is a fun date activity.  Not okay.

Twenties, I bid you a bittersweet adieu.  I’d love to stay and chat some more, but I have a mission.  I am off to meet the Thirties and together we are going to step out and kick some serious ass. Sorry, Twenties, but it’s over.

Really, finally over,

Vague

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