Life at twenty-two

I am twenty-two and I am happy.

When I was in primary school some time between the ages of eight and ten years old I remember doing a project in class where we had to describe and draw what we wanted our future to be like. I remember what I mindset distinctly. My dream house was an apartment in a big city, my dream car was using a train as public transport and at that age my dream job was to be a personal assistant who wore high heels and pencil skirts.

I was thinking about this recently, about how weirdly accurate that image I drew resembles my life today. I live in an apartment in the biggest city New Zealand has to offer, I don’t own a car and get around by public transport and although I am not a personal assistant, I work in a position that very much resembles what I would have interpreted a PA to be (and I get to wear pencil skirts and high heels). My eight to ten year old self would be so proud.

Getting to this point has been very strange. If you had talked to me about my life 6 months ago it would have been such a different story. I was so lost and pessimistic about what the future would bring. The final years of my degree made me bitter about what life would be like in a professional setting and it makes me feel so lucky to have found a job I really enjoy that lets me live a lifestyle I love.

Twenty-two is shaping up to be the best year of my adult life so far. The freedom, the guiltless relaxation and the idea that this is just the beginning of the best years of my life is the best feeling.

I’ll cheers to that,



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