The Reminder I Needed That Life is Fun and I’m Still Young
Dear twenty-something,
The last few months have felt a little stale. My cocoon era I wrote about previously. I’ve fallen into a semi-monotonous routine: wake up, make coffee, exercise, check emails, chip away at whatever strange project I’ve assigned myself, maybe chat with my roommates for a few hours. Day in, day out. Every week has one or two “event” moments—a game night, a day trip, a hike—but all in all, there’s not a whole lot of excitement happening in my day-to-day life right now. For most people, that’s probably fine. But my depression has always interpreted this kind of stillness as failure—like I’m not living a meaningful life, like I’m wasting away, like I’m screwing up my twenties. You know, all the cute stuff.
On top of that, I’ve become increasingly aware that I am, in fact, getting older. I know 23 isn’t old, but it’s old enough to start feeling it in small, unexpected ways. Like when I pass by high schoolers laughing and yelling and I realize, with a jolt, that that’s not me anymore. Even on my own college campus, the undergrads suddenly look like children. Cultural references and slang don’t always make sense to me anymore. And dare I say it—I find myself nostalgic for the “good old days” before TikTok corrupted the linguistic integrity of the English language. All of this is to say: I just got back from a trip to Mexico that reminded me how untrue all of that really is. Life is fun. And I am still young.
I went on this trip with six friends—my first international trip that wasn’t just family or my boyfriend—and it was everything I didn’t know I needed. We drank way too many margaritas and ended up playing poker with rocks as chips because, after searching the entire town, we realized poker isn’t as popular in Mexico as we’d hoped. Our caveman-style poker nights ended up being a trip highlight. When we weren’t playing rock poker, we were squeezed into a five-seater car, blasting 2000s Dance Hits, singing at the top of our lungs, and dancing like idiots. We went to karaoke where we danced with strangers, sat by the beach sipping lattes, swung off a rope into jungle swimming holes, and even swam in caves. We stayed up late talking and laughing until our stomachs hurt. I barely checked my email. I didn’t worry about future plans. I wasn’t anywhere but there.
That feeling—of unrelenting presence in the moment, of unpredictable fun, and the complete absence of worry—is exactly how I felt before I ever became aware of myself getting older. That surrender to the lack of control, and the sense of okay-ness with it. It was a feeling I didn’t know I was in desperate need of. And it was a feeling that finally found me again.
—
You’d fall asleep on the floor of your friend’s living room at 2 AM with a kitchen towel for a blanket. You’d wake up at 9 AM, slightly hungover, bloated from pizza, and foggy on the details of the night before. You’d laugh with your friends all the way to the shitty local diner, where you’d rehash everything that happened. Then you’d go home to your parents and act like nothing happened, go to school not caring that people had seen your slightly embarrassing Snapchat story from the weekend.
You didn’t think about what was due next week—maybe not even what was due the next day. You went on trips with your friends just to do the same degenerate drinking and partying in a slightly different environment. You fell in love with every single person you met, just a little bit. You felt every single emotion, good or bad, so intensely.
Now, admittedly, 16 was also miserable. It was the year you were diagnosed with depression. But the mindset you had back then still had qualities I find myself admiring. You felt beautiful things, 16—things I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again. And I’m so glad they did.
—
Travel has always had this effect on me. I come back swearing I’ll take this new perspective and change the way I live my life. And then. And then…
I don’t want to become one of those adults who chase youth. You won’t catch me at a college bar at 40, talking up students while my bleached hair and veneers blind everyone around me. But I do want to find a way to feel this sense of freedom and presence more often.
I’ve always been a control freak. It explains my anxiety, my intense body image issues, and my paralyzing fear of the unknown. And while I doubt my entire life will change because of one margarita-fueled week in Mexico, I hope I at least remember to slow down—and release a little bit of control—every once in a while.
As I write this, I find myself so grateful for the people I spent this week with—for the endless, stupid jokes, the kindness and care they showed for each other’s well-being, and the absolutely killer dance moves they pulled out on the dance floor. Thank you for the much-needed reminder.
With love,
23