Turning 28, Becoming an Adult, and the Meaning of It All

Have you ever felt like you're just waiting for your life to start?

I’m writing this essay/rant on a gloomy Sunday night. The house is quiet so I blast some pop music on my headphones to keep me from drowning in my own thoughts. Writing under the influence of the “Sunday scaries” is never a good sign, but somehow it motivates me, so I’ll take it. 

The thing is that I just turned 28 in April, and like any other girl, I can’t have a healthy relationship with my birthday or with the concept of aging. “Am I REALLY getting old?” The thought of it came to haunt me when I started to finally look like an adult with a more mature face and body, my teenage self gone for good; this concern about my age has only grown from just a worry for the lack of youthful beauty, to a spirling existential crisis. 

Seeing myself physically as an adult, made me wonder WHEN did I start feeling like one? It began at 25. I probably will never be able to accurately put it into words, but one day my brain just clicked and started to function, really; the fog of immaturity that clouded my mind had dissipated and the world was clear in my view.  

Now with the mind and body of an adult, I finally feel like a complete human being. I've never felt so real, and I’ve never been so scared. Everyday I feel like I’m waiting for my life to start. Like there must be something bigger than whatever I’m doing now, but it’s just an illusion. In reality this is my life: my corporate job, my hobbies, my current relationships. This is all I have.

And when I dare to think about what’s next for me,I see nothing exciting in my future: keep working, (If I’m lucky enough to keep my job), get a house (put myself in debt),keep going (but I’m tired),buy new things (that I don’t need), follow the new trends (stay hours on social media to distract myself from life itself),keep living… until I don’t? 

The slow shock of becoming an adult and realizing that I have full control of my life was not as liberating as I imagined. It’s actually asphyxiating: I cannot afford to be careless, financially and emotionally. I lay in my bed at night, when everything’s quiet, and I think: “What is even the meaning of life? If there’s any. What's the reason for all this?” I have dreams, but they feel so unreachable, and  will I even be happy if I achieve them? I want, I want, I want.

The lack of purpose and meaning is consuming my sanity, a hole has grown in my chest. A hole with the shape of something yet unknown. I’ve tried to fill it with distractions, but they just keep falling apart. I need that missing piece, a real purpose. I’ve realized this is why people have kids, or why I fill my free time with movies,books,vlogs and music: We want to entertain ourselves with other people's lives, to live through them and their stories. 

Maybe finding purpose for life is like listening to an old loved song that you forgot you liked, the moment you hear it again , you are filled with excitement and everything is clear. So I dare to believe: even though I don’t know which song I’m looking for now, I’ll know it when I hear it.

And in moments like these, I try to be kind with myself, and remember that everything is bigger than me. Then I remember to be kind with other people too, as we all are going through this life and it’s never easy. As humans, our mere existence is flawed, either by design or just chance, so what if I don't have a purpose yet? Maybe I’m here to feel and experience all I can, and take whatever life throws in my way, make the most of it. Maybe it is about those nights when I don’t feel desperate, but hopeful.