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A couple weeks ago, I officially entered my late 20s. As I realized I wasn’t that young anymore, I realized something else: It’s time for me to start accepting more responsibility. At 27, I guess that means I have to start describing life as a journey.
Whether or not I’m ready, I’ve reached the age where I need to start calling everything I do a waypoint on a long and winding road and saying the future is something like a high mountain pass rising up in the distance that I’m always approaching.
It won’t be easy, but it seems like part of growing up is talking in metaphors like this all the time to all my friends and acquaintances, who I will refer to as fellow wanderers, traveling with me through the foothills of existence.
As a 27-year-old, I am now expected to do certain things. I have to call my college years the “chrysalis where I grew my wings that now carry me along my way.” Yesterday at work, I heard myself describing my job as an oasis town that I’m staying in on my way toward my personal treasure, and it dawned on me that that’s the sort of observation I’ll probably be dealing in exclusively for a while.
It looks like I should get used to doing things like missing the bus, turning to a stranger, and launching into a speech about how there are other vines in the forest that, although they may come from different trees, can be swung the right way to get me to brunch on time. As I get older, I suppose I better learn to wax poetic about how my parents are fishermen, my girlfriend is a lighthouse, and my friends are all helpful bugs.
My life may have started 27 years ago, but when it comes to shoehorning it into aphorisms about achieving my goals, I feel like I’ve only just begun to take the first step up the ladder to the garden of success.
