Today I joked on Twitter that I would spend the last day of my twenties doing everything on Ted Mosby's Murtaugh List (from How I Met Your Mother), before I'm thirty and therefore too old to do any of that "stuff." And, as predicted, the closest I've come to any of that is sleeping on a futon.
But honestly, I've spent the last day of my twenties in the same way I spent most of the rest of the decade: quietly. I went to appointments, fussed over my dissertation chapter, spent too much time procrastinating on the internet, listened to melancholy Christmas music, and talked with my mother. I had to use my SAD lamp a little more than usual, and drank an entire pot of tea, because it was a little darker outside than usual. I got a little creative with supper.
I feel like my life is on the brink again: I am looking forward to the end of my years as a student (finally). I'm looking forward to my thirties. I'm looking forward to beginning sessional teaching. I'm looking forward to getting on to the rest of my life as a grown-up. And, even as my daily life seems to look the same as it has for years, I'm starting to make small, superficial changes. I became brave enough to chop my hair off, and found it to be good. Last week, I went out and bought some nice clothes that fit my no-longer-twenty-five-years-old body, including a new little black dress. (I got good wear out of that old one.) This new dress really shows how much more comfortable in my body I am than I was ten years ago: it is figure-flattering. Perhaps even figure-hugging. Like, I have to shimmy and wiggle in order to get into the dress. Actually, I pretty much have to roll the dress onto me like pantyhose. And it looks fantastic.
I like coming to a place where I'm getting a little more happy with myself.