On Turning 24 — A Year Of Change Entering My Mid-Twenties

Another year.

Belated B-Day

I have officially entered my mid-twenties. Holy hell. Like the other age milestones, I don't feel any different. I still don't know what the hell I'm doing, other than surviving. Somewhat.

Wow, that's a melancholic, contemplative start to a typically joyous occasion. But yeah, I don't feel grown. I've accepted I never will, and the concept is heinous anyway.

What does grown mean? What should grown mean? If anything, I feel I know less than ever. Somehow, I can never reach the goal.

I know comparison is the bane of happiness, and the pressure to accomplish everything at this age is an outright fantasy with all that's going on. I've largely overcome this.

Yet the remnants of imposter syndrome and being behind persist.
They're irrational, but involuntary.

There's no exact moment that I change. There's no moral or lesson in turning 24 – it just happens. But hey, that won't stop me from crafting one to fit that narrative of a uniform path all must follow.

My 24th year showcased a push of my boundaries. I volunteered to take on new projects. I connected with and contributed to new organizations.

Through these successes and my self-rumination, I gained confidence. I realized I was not as broken as I had believed for so long, and I received further validation from supportive others.

I experienced myself, rather than blindly believing a dictated "reality" and overriding my personal feelings. I discovered what worked for me – what was my truth.

I also gained employment for the first time, marking that pivotal goal off my life checklist. Long overdue, the most harrowing years of my life have concluded.

It's not always perfect. The last week was riddled with little ticks to major incidents, with the end nowhere in sight. I've felt quite unwell as each negative piled atop me.

Perhaps the quiet beginning was a soft patch. Perhaps I'm only facing "reality" now. Or maybe this is just a rough month.

Only time will tell.
My experience will never be as cut-and-dry as told.

While my adversity rises, my tolerance and ability to navigate it do too. My feelings relative to the events remain the same, but the objective truth remains. The truth is – I've made progress.

I'm less shackled by the coercion to conform and to be held in the highest regard by all. I've realized that even if I don't seek to cause conflict, I can't avoid it.

At least, not without sacrificing parts of myself.

Sometimes, situations turn sour even when I do everything right. Often it's out of my control entirely. The negativity focused on me used to bring me down perpetually.

I ruminated even in neutral situations, where I thought I embarrassed myself. Whether a gaffe or a heated exchange, I've realized how little all this matters or affects anything.

With over two years of emptiness, I had no sense of who I was. I let myself be defined externally. I was told who I was, what I wanted, and what I needed.

Agonizing thoughts filled the empty container that was my mind. But my vessel is full now, and more selective of what contents are retained.

I believe based not on clueless assumptions anymore. I use intuition and make decisions based on mindsets developed over 24 years of living.

I have more control over my reality now.

Contrary to what I just said, sacrifice is one final theme of this year. Not of the self, but through increasing tradeoffs that I must make – particularly with my time.

There's a dreadful irony. I had all the time in the world when I didn't have a "real" job, but I could hardly utilize it. Many endeavors were fruitless, and I often failed to overcome my challenges despite my efforts.

I took on more in my pro bono work. I spent whole days switching between organizations' tasks, giving myself wrist pain from typing so much. For the first time, I realized my physical limitations.

With a paid job, I have 30+ hours less time per week – not to mention much needed rest periods. I want to explore opportunities with new projects and nonprofits, but my energy is sparse.

I must choose what to work on, and neglect another area when I do so. Writing these words means less engineering. More engineering means less time for leisure and (online) socialization.

Is that anything new though? I feel that's always been the case. Just more so now. Hell, I'm writing this two weeks after my actual birthday.

Many of my endeavors started over 8 years ago. It's a period difficult to comprehend – two consecutive graduating classes worth of time.

Countless failures. Impasses in progress spanning years. Feels like there's still nothing to show for my efforts. With a job draining the time and motivation for creativity, it's not unreasonable to think – are my efforts disappearing?

Was it all for nothing?
I have an inkling that it wasn't.

Social media decimated my brain, but that pronounced my understanding of its effects. A lack of job opportunities brought me to volunteer, and explore issues, eventually leading to the sphere of productive discourse.

My isolation and loneliness led me to pen pal apps, and I rediscovered true human connection – learning what aspects cultivated it online.

I thought back to my projects and the eternity of blank-page syndrome. I had no one to turn to for guidance – no one I trusted or felt comfortable with.

The idea hit me one morning. I deployed a page by night.

I've worked on my feedback platform a bit over the past months. The project is technically live but doesn't have the main features. But it's getting close to something usable, even if it's super simple.

I've also thought about past projects that fell by the wayside – how I could re-attempt them. My work on these pulls from years of experiences that have seemingly led nowhere.

A childhood of detrimental effects. Growing up with big ambitions, only for them to fall. Struggling through the darkest times of my life.

As I've witnessed, every single piece is coming together to create something new. And if there's one final theme I could attribute to this year of life, it'd be the emergence of a way forward.

Will this be the one? The time when I've finally reached my goal, as I've told myself countless times? Probably not. I've burned myself too many times before.

Events have converged in the now, but that doesn't mean I'm done. I don't know if my present will play out successfully, or if I fail yet again.

Nevertheless, my experiences will impact my future in ways I can't see now, just as I couldn't fathom the path I find myself on in the present.

I won't lie, it's not always fun. 8 years is a long time for me, and it feels like I've hardly begun. On the grand scale though, that time might hardly be significant.

I worked a closing shift on my actual birthday. No one knew. I brought a small cake to eat in the break room. Maybe that's disappointing, but perhaps I don't need an occasion to feel that inner glow.

The days have blurred and I hardly recall which it is. The concept of weekends, weekdays, and holidays don't matter much. I can relax, celebrate, or do anything – any day.

So I suppose on this day – embarking on year 25 – I'll keep building on the foundation of my past. Taking the next road before me, just as I always have.

At least I can see the path now. Eventually, something will stick.