On The Duality Of 25

This blog originated a little less than six months ago, two months after I turned 25. As those months have passed, my life has begun to look much different – which I suppose is the perfect introduction to what I dub “the duality of 25.” I am the same as I was in June, while simultaneously having shed that skin and grown into a new version of myself.

What originated as a few lines of prose is now the essay you're reading. Written in the midst of a depressive spiral, my words are entirely reflective of my struggle to figure out what the f*ck was happening in my life. The lines read: 

At 25 I’ve never felt so small, yet at the same time so heavy. 

25 has an eerie sense of familiarity, coupled with the heightened uncertainty of what the increasing speed of passing time will bring. 

25 was my hardest year yet, but so was 10 and 15 and 20. Maybe it gets easier at 35. 

(Definitely not.) 

At 25 I spend my weekdays aching for my family, but my weekends wondering why I’d ever yearn to be 15 again. 

25 has been realizing that 15 was only yesterday, but 35 is an unimaginable decade away. 

At 15 I knew everything, but at 25 I’ve realized I know absolutely nothing. Maybe at 35 I’ll know everything once more.  

Again, definitely not. While the expressions of a recent 25 year old in the midst of melancholy, these lines resonate even more sharply with a 25 and seven-month old living in an era of comfortable happiness. Looking back I can still feel the ache Izzy-of-five-months-ago carried as she struggled with the knowledge and self-inflicted pressure of being a “true” adult, while drowning in a tidal wave of pure existential dread.

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My life until a year ago had been marked by semi-clear next steps: due dates, deadlines, markers of “coming of age,” “rights of passage” –  get good grades, go to college, intern, learn what it is I like, pursue that, and on and on it goes. 

With true adulthood comes uncertainty. The departure from my adolescence came with the decision to quit my first “big girl” job. Some will say they’re proud of my bravery, others will say it was irresponsible to up and leave without a back-up plan. To the latter I say “Occupe-toi de tes oignons” (my favorite French saying for “mind your business”). Mind your onions!

Though I claim to have matured and become less rash, I still QUIT … to the shock of many, myself included. Though a surreal experience, this decision came with unexpected ease. The catalyst happened to be a sense I was losing integral aspects of my identity (somewhat oxymoronic, as in the months following my quitting I felt an even more drastic change of self). For one, I lacked any and all confidence – a trait which has defined so much of my life. My sense of self suddenly became shrouded by the nagging thought I was not good enough, not prepared enough, not adult enough. 

Regardless of anyone’s opinion or my own reflections, this very large step has been the greatest change-maker in a year defined by self growth.

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I’ve always been fascinated by the idea that the human brain matures around age 25: 

“Generally the brain finishes developing and maturing in the mid to late 20s. Lastly is the prefrontal cortex, responsible for skills like planning, prioritization, and making good decisions” per the National Institute of Mental Health.  

Planning, prioritization, good decisions. 

Retrospectively thinking about the three-some-odd years since I graduated from college, I can practically see my brain reaching a more "final" form. Feel the gray matter and neurons and whatnot cementing themselves into a more final expression. I would argue that overall my planning, prioritization, and good decision-making have indeed improved. 

Yet what has also come with this so-called “maturity” is a fear of the looming loss of adolescence.

As attractive as the certainty that comes with following the path most followed seemed, I had confidence that I did not want to be taking this pre-tread route. I wanted excitement, flexibility, what some would call instability. 

Yet suddenly 25 and gasping for stability, comfort, longevity, I now begin to wonder what all the fuss was about when I was so adamantly abhorring the idea of a “typical” life. How do I blend these newfound needs with that characteristic freedom, novelty, and passion that are fundamentals of being Izzy Roshko? So at 25 I’m trying to find just what that middle ground may be. 

Each conjecture comes with a “but,” an “also,” a “yet.” That is the duality of being 25. 

Now in a relatively stable and very happy era of my life, I see that I’ve allowed aspects of my adolescence that define me (such as writing this blog) to slip to the wayside. In an effort to be more responsible, less chaotic, increasingly reliable, and “good enough” I’ve swung the pendulum the other way and foregone certain characteristics and hobbies of my younger self that I truly do cherish. 

In my 25th year and beyond, I’m learning that you should try to be in bed before midnight most nights, but it’s okay if on occasion you stay up until 1 am writing a blog. Doing something that fills your cup. 

How do I reconcile what I can only equate to a second puberty – the sense I’ve reached adulthood – with the recognition that I’m younger than I thought I’d be?

The difficulty I find in the duality of 25 is learning what it means to truly begin maturing while having no idea what to do with it.