At the grand old age of 23, which now to me, sounds SO young. I had a massive freak out about life. I call it my quarter life crisis, and it resulted in me quitting my job, wearing ripped jeans all the time (because I felt they made me look cool and less boring) and uploading memes about not having your shit together in your 20’s to Instagram.
I worried that I was old (quite laughable now) and that I was boring.
Whilst, in some ways, I am glad I had that freak out. It gave me the push to leave a job that wasn’t motivating me, and to pursue full-time blogging which I was passionate about. I do also laugh at my reluctance to grow up and fear of being an adult. I was clinging on to my youth as tightly as I could.
That was almost four years ago, I’m now 26, and I’m no longer in denial about being a grown up.
Which may sound totally weird, but seriously, I used to deny I was an adult. I used to feel that being an adult was boring, I was boring, my life was boring, everyone else had an exciting life apart from me, I felt old, my life was slipping away, it was all very dramatic and my B grade in GCSE Drama should have been upped to an A* during the years of 2014-2016.
But what I’ve realised over the past year or so, is that I actually like being an adult. And I actually don’t care if I’m boring.
Boring used to be the biggest insult when you were younger. I never wanted to be boring. I’m pretty sure my MySpace bio said ‘life’s too short to be boring’ at one point. For so long in my early twenties, I longed for my days as a teenager which seemed so much more fun, and carefree, I mean my biggest decision most days, was who I shared the love with on Bebo.
I hated that in my twenties, I felt I had no time to do anything apart from work and housework, I hated that my money had to go on things like council tax, and that I couldn’t stomach cheap vodka anymore. I felt that I’d officially become b.o.r.i.n.g.
Over the past year or so, maybe it was hitting my mid twenties, and starting to not give a f**k anymore, but I wondered ‘what is so wrong with being boring?’
I think part of it is that I have been called boring in the past. By so called friends, by classmates at uni, my homebody ways were boring, me wanting to move in with Henry at 19 – was boring, my reluctance to go out weekly getting pissed after the age of 21 was – you guessed it, boring. I had no confidence within myself and listened to all of those people, and convinced myself that I was boring.
With apps such as Instagram and Facebook, showing us the highlights of everyone else’s life, it can make ours seem boring in comparison. Quite often, I’ll be sitting watching Netflix and see pics of someone’s Instagram story of them at an amazing party, or on an exotic holiday. I can’t help but think ‘am I living life right?’
But the thing is. This life thing, you gotta do what makes you happy.
If you hate staying in, then go out. If you hate going out, then stay in.
I guess I realised, that instead of feeling guilty for not doing things such as partying, or going travelling, that it was actually okay for me to be doing all of the things I enjoy.
I wear trainers these days rather than heels and I’m okay with that.
I stopped with my reluctance to grow up, and realised that your tastes change as you get older. For 18 year old me, I couldn’t stand the idea of staying in, I wanted to be in Reflex with a £1 VK with my pals wearing a tight Lipsy dress.
For 26-year-old me, my ideal night starts at the gym, followed by dinner, Netflix and a not too late night so I can read my book. Maybe I am old before my age, but I’m happy. I’m content. Surely that’s what life is about?
I would like to travel more. But I also love home and my dog. I’m at my happiest cuddled up on the sofa, with Henry and Frank beside us snoring gently.
So in defence of being boring, I don’t really care. I’m happy, and I’d rather be happy being boring, that doing something exciting and being miserable.
You’ve gotta do what’s right for you, and I’ve realised that being an adult is of course different to being a teenager, but I damn well wouldn’t want to go back to the days or being so un- confident that I felt I had to change everything about myself, to letting boys push me around, and putting up with fake friends rather than call them out on their bullshit. I’ve said goodbye to that version of me, and I have to say, I’m 100 times happier within myself, since saying goodbye to the 18 year old in me, and just full on accepting that I’m a woman in my mid twenties.
I’m all about what you’ve got, rather than what you haven’t. For me, my little life is enough for me, and if more ever comes my way then brilliant. But I guess I’m over feeling guilty for what makes me feel happy and content.
And well if that makes me boring, then so what.
Sweatshirt : Missguided
Jeans : River Island
Photos by Beth Williams