Me: now/then

I recently turned 28.

So what, you might be asking, it’s hardly a seminal enter-a-new-decade-and-throw-a-big-party age is it? And I would have agreed. But since the B day I’ve found myself musing on the fact it’s a whole ten years since I turned 18 and suddenly it feels like kind of a big deal. 18 was something of a big year for me in a number of ways: my mum was very unwell, I sat (and flunked) my A-levels, I found myself engaged to an abusive knob who I’d only succumbed to dating in the first place to try and earn some cool points, I sat and watched the events unfold in real time on 9/11 whilst the banana loaf I was baking turned to cinders in the oven, and, monumentally, I left home and went to University where I met a group of ladies who made me rethink my views on pretty much everything.

These young women (I was at a single sex college which might sound like hell to some of you but was utterly amazing) came from a multitude of backgrounds, cultures and parts of the world, and while some friendships didn’t survive the first term others are still with me and stronger than ever. Suddenly I, a middle class comprehensively educated averageton from a small northern town with approximately four non white families in it, was sharing the dinner table with a cross-hatch of society from throughout the world. By knowing, interacting, arguing and having fun with these girls I found a confidence that came from within for the first time in my life and this kick started the process of becoming a new, real, me who dumped the dickhead, embraced the silly, swotty girl that is me, fell in love with an old friend and began to carve a real future for herself.

Ten years on from this epic year I find myself facing another crossroads and unsure what choices I should be making now to put myself on the right path for the next ten years. Me and my lovely boyfriend (the aforementioned former friend) moved down to London after our studies and began to carve careers for ourselves without a thought to that distant spectre of our thirties. While the boy reached his last year, I’m still clinging onto the dwindling years of my twenties, determined to wring them for all the fun I can. But something, this somehow-era-defining-but-not-a-number-found-on-a-greetings-card age perhaps, or the distant call of the northern lands I grew up in, have left me wondering whether there’s more to it all than this city living 9 to 5 existence. I’ve grown weary of the hustle, the bustle, the office, the rush hour, and I suspect I’m not alone.

Who knows what the next ten years will hold for me and my fella: a move to the country? (hopefully very soon), marriage? (almost certainly), babies? (hmm, we’ll see about that one, I’m not too sure myself), and now for the biggie, a change of career path? – here’s where I get a bit stuck. If not this job then what is it I actually want to do with my life? Is it too late to start something new? Should I have trained as an engineer instead of pursuing that arts degree? What about the mortgage? Is there actually enough work out there to get by as a freelancer? Can I make a success of my talents on my own? These are the questions I’m now asking, and like most of you I’m guessing, I don’t have the answers.

But just as 18 flipped my world upside down and gave me a much needed kick up the arse to find the real me who was ready to face young adulthood I’m hoping maybe 28 can help me shed a little light on these troublesome topics and wondering whether my peers have found their answers.