As a kid, 26 was the age I thought was the start of real adulthood—an age where I’d come into the woman I was meant to be. (Not sure how that was decided, but I still stand by it.) And while I still think of 26 as that tipping point where life truly begins, a part of me feels bound by convention to celebrate the quarter-life milestone.
Hey, 25. It’s me, Kim.
I’m kidding. I almost wasn’t going to write anything at all (much less make an effort to celebrate my 25th). The year leading up to today was a tumultuous one, but it’s because of all that crazy buildup that I think just maybe it’s worth reflecting upon. A lot happened last year: I became a homeowner; I’m directing two bachata teams; my business card hosts not one, but three directorial titles. Six-year-old me couldn’t have possibly imagined that before Magic Twenty-Six, I could have a career I adore and make my hobby a side hustle. That by 25, I was living a life that was mine.
Your twenties aren’t easy, that’s for sure, but here’s what I know for sure: Looking back is just as important as moving forward. Acknowledge your successes. Society may tell you to downplay your achievements and that self-promotion is the “eighth deadly sin,” but every win is a win.
This is me finally seeing mine. Here’s to lucky 25.
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