Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always wanted to be 35.
I didn’t realize just how scared people were of getting older until I went online. My feed has been full of girls crying over their last birthday as a teenager, posting “goodbye to my youth” captions like they were turning 80.
To an extent, I get it. When you’re a young, intelligent woman, the world praises you. You’re special. You’re unique. You’re “so mature for your age.” Teachers love you, adults are impressed by you, and every accomplishment comes with an asterisk that makes it shine a little brighter: and she’s only 16.
Then you turn 20, and the asterisk disappears. You’re not impressive for your age anymore. You’re just an adult, doing what adults are expected to do. For the first two decades of our lives, we can be certain of certain things. Kindergarten leads to middle school. Middle school leads to high school. Learner’s permit, prom, graduation, college acceptance letter. Every year comes with a new grade number and someone telling us exactly what comes next.
You can be certain of all of it — until you can’t.
At 20, most of us are sophomores or juniors in college, halfway through the last “level” we know how to play. (I’m a 20-year-old senior, so I’m having an even worse crisis). After graduation, there’s no 17th grade. Nobody hands us a syllabus for 23. For the first time, life stops being linear. The uncertainty is scary.
And it’s not just the timeline that changes. It’s the responsibilities: rent, health insurance, investing in your Roth IRA (hopefully by now you have one), calling to book your own doctor’s appointment, etc. As a teenager, these feel like distant, grown-up problems.
Our parents and grandparents had a pretty clear script: get the job, get married, buy the house, have the kids. Usually in that order, usually by a certain age. Those checkpoints aren’t set in stone anymore. Some of us want kids at 25, some at 38, some never. Some of us will get married, some won’t. Some careers start at 22, and some start at 30 after three pivots. The freedom is amazing, but it’s also terrifying. When there’s no script, there’s no way to know if you’re “on track,” because there is no track.
So we invent one, usually by scrolling. The girl from high school who just got engaged. The LinkedIn post about someone’s dream job offer. The TikTok titled “10 Things You Should Have Done by 25.” If society isn’t handing out checkpoints anymore, we get to make our own. A checkpoint doesn’t have to be a ring or a job title — it just has to mean something to you. A few personal checkpoints of my own will be publishing my first research paper, finding the perfect clutch bag, and hosting my first dinner party solo.
Of course, it’s easier said than done. Knowing the pressure is made up doesn’t make it disappear overnight, but knowing it’s made up is a start.
That’s why I always wanted to be 35. I pictured a woman who was established. A woman with autonomy. A woman who was the decider of her own happiness. Even as a little girl, I knew that one day I would do something to give myself that freedom.
What I’m realizing now is that I don’t have to wait until 35 to start. The freedom I was dreaming about is the same freedom that scares everyone about their 20s. No script, no checkpoints, no one telling you what comes next. Just you, deciding.
Our teens came with a map. Your 20s come with a pen. And I, for one, can’t wait to see what I write.