“Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you’ll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you’ll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.”
― Cheryl Strayed,
Hi there. I’m Kate. I’m 26 years old. It’s recently dawned on me that despite doing everything basically “right” in my life – I actually have no idea what I’m doing.
If you had asked me when I was 18 where I would be when I was 26, I would have said something like this:
“At 26 years old, I imagine I will be settled down. Specifically, I will be somewhere woodsy with a large backyard to cater to my two large male German Shepherds. Enter Stage Left: a handsomely rugged man with callused hands, a square jaw, and beard scruff. He will let me sleep in and make coffee for me upon waking, and, despite being a little standoffish with his emotions, will have recently delivered a heartfelt and tear-jerking proposal. And even with my general grumpiness every morning, my tendency to get defensive over things that don’t require defense, and my outspoken feminist ideals, he will love me [and our dogs] and we will do simple things like watch the sun set together without speaking, or read whodunnit novels on Friday nights while drinking chamomile tea.”
I wish I could go back and slap that ignorant 18-year-old Kate right in the face. Let’s make it a back-hander to emphasize the stupidity.
Here is my current life at 26 years old:
I am single. I live in a tiny bedroom in a beautiful apartment in Boston that I can’t afford. I am drowning myself in enormous financial debt, and general disappointment about the direction of my life.
Oh yes, and I recently adopted a dog named Arya [after the infamous Stark] and together we are going to figure some shit out.
If you’ve made it here on accident, then maybe you’re like me: Lost. I hope you’ll stay a while.
If you’ve made it here on purpose: Welcome! I hope you can find a laugh, or a cringe, or a love for dogs with me.