They forget to tell you the year of 19 is the pits.
You’re old enough to legally do what you want, but you’re too young to make big decisions your parents don’t agree with – like dropping out of university or eating an entire cake by yourself. You want to travel, but you work for a fast food restaurant or some other crappy dead-end-job that definitely does not support your dreams of having a social life and nice clothes.
You’re in a limbo of wanting to do well at university and not liking your degree. Only one tutor/lecturer bought you lunch this year and you can’t afford matching socks.
But the other thing they forget to tell you about the year of 19, is that while you’re stuck in your funk, wondering why you have no money/friends/job/future, the year of 19 keeps going, and once you leave your bedroom, it can get pretty fun.
Sure, I wanted to drop out of university 23.8 times, but it was also a year of car trips, and beach trips, and boat trips and camping trips.
A year of laughing too much, singing too loud, and crying at the death of Alan Rickman. A year of too many spray tans, too many sunburns and not enough bread – screw you summer body.
A year of forgotten tent poles (I hate you Jamile), too much jaeger and licking peoples noses in the mosh*.
I made it to the halfway point in my dual degree.
I worked for my “forever company” for three weeks before realising it was like I was back in high school and definitely not worth the “forever company” term.
I threw out my Harry Styles life-sized cardboard cutout and instantly became an adult.
I took approximate 439 photos of my cats and partied like there was no tomorrow (and then refused to drink for three months due to flashbacks).
At the end of 2014 I vowed to not “keep my juggs enclosed in my over the shoulder boulder holder at all times,” and “not touch my friends boobs or bums (unless they ask me to).” On January 1st, I vowed never to drink again as I realized what my phone now looked like, and the photos accompanying said phone screen smashing.
Last year, I forgot about resolutions as I danced the night away with a French boy named Gabrielle, my old friend Smirnoff and three of my best girlfriends at a music festival. On January 2nd, I vowed to never eat chips and poutine again as I vomited down the side of some poor sod’s tent.
This year, I share with you another set of vows and resolutions, I’m sure to forget come January 3 – but hopefully not, some of these are proper adult ones I should probably get around to doing.
Take each one with a grain of salt and watch along on my Instagram as I take a shot for every failed attempt at the following:
- I will stop wearing thongs with every outfit – unless its to the beach and/or a university exam (in the hopes comfort will produce a god exam – I’m doubtful too sigh).
- I will put more one-on-one effort into my friendships, with or without the aid of wine and Bridget Jones.
- I will let go of the friendships that aren’t filling me with support, food, love and ability for growth.
- I will take more group photos – preferably not a selfie but will settle… Should maybe invest in a tripod hmmm…
- I will shave my legs more than once a month – pulling this one straight from 2014 considering nothing has changed since then.
- I will not ride a scooter in Bali
- I will learn how to budget and actually stick to it. Ie stop spending $60 on groceries a week when I live with my parents. I don’t know how either.
- I will stop buying useless things off ebay… all of the delivery people now know my name… oops?
- I will learn the names of all of my mail deliverymen who I see at least three times a week.
- I will stop eating so much grilld (my month overseas without grilld counts doesn’t it?).
Here’s to 2016, you were okay I suppose…
*Just a disclaimer this was not me, but my friend Nicholas. Please see this post for more funny details.