First 105 Days at 25

Around this time 10 years ago I felt angry, helpless and alone.

My mom recently told me that we’d be moving from Texas to North Carolina my Junior year of high school. I knew deep in my heart I was leaving before my prime. I’d already made the cut to be on my school’s radio station reading traffic/weather reports for the next school year. I sadly had to decline auditioning for the noon – 1 pm personality slot since I’d no longer be around. I’d already made the Varsity Track Team for the next season and was excited to receive my Letterman Jacket in the fall. Unfortunately the moving truck would whisk me away before that ceremony.  I was going to be an officer of my school’s chapter of National Honor Society. Instead of being in charge of philanthropic events, I spent weeks trying to prove to my new school that I was in fact a bad ass and inducted as a Sophomore.

Around this time 10 years ago, I was coming to terms to the fact that I’d be moving halfway across the country as a junior in high school. Instead of being the person I pictured involved with countless activities and various leadership positions, I was soon to be the kid who ate lunch alone by the school buses. Instead of being on track of having the ideal high school experience, I was the awkward new kid that didn’t know how to make friends – to the horror of my 5-year-old self. In order to pass the time I’d escape and imagine my life 10 years in the future. After high school and college and what fun adventures I’d be getting into….

After living my first 105 days at 25, I can say that I’m feeling the same emotions that I felt 10 years ago – Angry. Helpless. Alone. The only difference between the two is that my teenage self left incredible things behind as I headed into the unknown.

At 25 my future feels bleak, but the future I would’ve had if I stayed in DC would’ve been bleaker. As I type this I’m overcoming yet another setback with my writing goals. If I’ve learned nothing else, I’m starting to realize 25 is literally my make it or break it year. I’m either on the cusp of something great as I head into my 30s or I’ll be that washed up kid with a job nowhere near my interests/passions/major praying there’s someone worse off than me as I walk into my high school and college reunions.

5-year-old Moni would’ve never imagined that 15-year-old Moni would be that awkward new kid. 15-year-old Moni would’ve never imagined that 25-year-old Moni would be that unemployed ‘starving artist’. 25-year-old Moni would’ve never imagined that 35-year-old Moni moved in with her mom content with a minimum wage job. <<<<< Since my expectations are always wrong, I’m figuring the reverse will happen. No?

Here’s to hoping that the incessant ‘you can be whatever you want’ comments I heard when growing up didn’t set me up for failure!

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