love letter to my twenties

Dear Twenties,

We haven't known each other for very long, but somehow you've already changed me in ways I never expected.

When I was younger, I thought my twenties would look polished. I imagined having a dream job, a beautiful apartment, a packed passport, and enough confidence to never second guess myself. Instead, you greeted me with uncertainty, unanswered prayers, wrong turns, and more "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing" moments than I could count.

And strangely enough...

Thank you.

There was a time when I was always looking ahead.

As a kid, I couldn't wait to be a teenager. As a teenager, I counted down the days until I turned twenty. Then, before I had even settled into twenty, I was already imagining twenty-one.

I spent so much of my life believing the next chapter would finally be the one where everything clicked. I thought I'd wake up one morning with a career I loved, friendships that never felt uncertain, enough money to feel secure, confidence that never wavered, and a perfectly mapped-out future.

I was so busy reaching for the version of life I thought I was supposed to have that I almost missed the one unfolding right in front of me.

But somewhere along the way, I realized life isn't meant to be lived in fast forward.

There's something incredibly beautiful about making peace with the season you're actually in.

Not the season you imagined.

Not the season you're chasing.

The one you're living.

Because every chapter has something the next one can't give you.

The uncertainty teaches you trust.

The waiting teaches you patience.

The beginning teaches you courage.

And the ordinary days, the ones I used to wish away, become the memories I know I'll someday wish I could revisit one more time.

As I get ready to turn twenty one, I'm surprisingly not in a hurry anymore.

For the first time, I'm excited not because I think this next year will magically have all the answers, but because I finally understand that every season is offering me something I would have missed if I had kept sprinting toward the next one.

Maybe growing up isn't about arriving.

Maybe it's about learning to fall in love with where your feet already are.

Thank you for teaching me that life isn't a race I forgot to train for.

Thank you for introducing me to versions of myself that only existed because something didn't go according to plan. The version that learned to start over. The version that learned to sit with disappointment instead of running from it. The version that realized growing up isn't about having all the answers—it's about asking better questions.

You've been messy.

You've been beautiful.

You've been painfully ordinary.

You've reminded me that healing isn't linear, dreams evolve, friendships change, and home becomes less of a place and more of the people who make you feel seen.

You've taught me that it's okay to outgrow things I once begged God for.

It's okay to change my mind.

It's okay to choose peace over proving myself.

There were days I felt behind.

Days I compared my timeline to everyone else's highlight reel.

Days I wondered if I had somehow missed the moment where everyone else figured life out.

But if these first years have taught me anything, it's this:

No one really has.

We're all just collecting stories we'll laugh about later.

As I stand on the edge of twenty one, I realize I don't want to rush you anymore.

I don't want to spend every birthday mourning the year that's gone instead of celebrating the one that's beginning.

I want slow mornings.

Conversations that linger.

Plane tickets that scare me just enough to book them anyway.

Coffee with people who know the unedited version of me.

Sunsets I don't photograph because I'm too busy watching them.

I want to become someone I'm proud of; not because she's perfect, but because she's kind. Curious. Brave enough to keep showing up.

I know the next decade won't be easier.

There will be heartbreaks I can't imagine yet.

Dreams that won't work out.

People I'll have to let go of.

Versions of myself I'll outgrow.

But there will also be cities I've never walked through.

Friends I haven't met yet.

Prayers waiting for the right timing.

Ordinary Sundays that someday I'll miss more than I know.

So here's my promise to you.

I'll stop waiting for my life to begin.

I'll celebrate the small victories.

I'll romanticize grocery store flowers and rainy afternoons.

I'll call the people I love.

I'll forgive myself for not having everything figured out.

And when I inevitably stumble, I'll remember that growing isn't supposed to look graceful.

It's supposed to look honest.

So thank you, twenties.

Thank you for reminding me that becoming isn't something you finish.

It's something you choose, over and over again.

Here's to twenty one.

Not because I expect it to be perfect...

but because I'm finally learning that imperfect has been pretty beautiful all along.

With love,

The girl who's still figuring it out,
and finally realizing that's the point.