twenty five years down my life is still...

So it's now officially my birthday. I don't seem to mind so much that my friends and family are all far away and I only had two presents to open at midnight plus the top Mum bought me before she left (I usually only open one at midnight and save the rest til birthday morning or Christmas as the case may be, but this time it seemed pretty futile). The first present I unwrapped was a Dymocks gift voucher from Jamie and Marie, which is a bit of a double edged sword. On the one hand, it means I get to buy a new book. On the other hand, I have to limit myself to just one. Not sure how I'll go on that score, but I really appreciate the gift, even if it does mean I wind up as a babbling, twitching heap in the foetal position on the floor of Dymocks.

The other present was from Ingo - a foldable silver-looking photo frame set with three display bits. Pity all my photos are still in Perth, but Sarah's been promising me some updated pictures of the kids, so hopefully I'll have something to put in there soon. It was a good choice of present; I've been thinking about what I could do to make my bedroom look a bit more decorative, since I bascially brought functional stuff (like clothes and, um, several bottles of extremely nice wine) with me when I left, and I don't know when I'll get things like books and photos and the pasta maker over here.

So. Twenty five. I wouldn't be feeling too bad about the advancement in age if Katie hadn't pointed out that it's a quarter of a century. She did this right before reminding me that when she turned twenty and started going on about how old that sounded, I had quite chirpily said, "Well, if it makes you feel any better, you're halfway to forty."

That would've been a good eight years ago. I wish she didn't have such an excellent memory sometimes.

The truth is, I used to think about twenty five as an abstract, far off age, and I had absolutely no concept of what I'd be doing then, except that I'd be an adult and my life would be very together. Heh, so much for that idea. My visions for this age changed with what happened in my life; at seventeen I wanted to be a practising psychologist who'd done some travelling by twenty five, at twenty one I wanted Cameron and I to both have jobs and be saving for our own place and perhaps starting to think about kids in the medium term future.  I'm sure I couldn't have ever imagined being divorced (not officially, but still), unemployed and living in Canberra away from almost everyone I know and love. And if I had thought of that, I don't think it would've entered my head that I might be relatively okay with it, that I might be doing anything but collapsing into a little heap.

I don't really mind that none of these things I planned for has happened, and I think I've stopped trying to make plans beyond the short and medium term future stuff like having a job, and getting settled, and losing weight, because to do so would be utterly pointless. I have no idea what will have happened to me between now and turning thirty. The only thing I'd really like in that timeframe is to have a stable relationship and at least one child, but there are so many factors that would have to fall into place for that to occur that I can't say if it will or won't. It's not something I want immediately, and I guess in five years if it hasn't happened I'll still be okay.

So maybe my gift to myself this year - I mean, besides the teapot - is a sense that I'll be okay no matter what happens and no matter how hard it gets. I'll be okay as long as I don't worry about it and don't go making too many plans to fill up the time ahead.