For me, this year is the year of the 24. Otherwise known as the year I turned four and twenty years.
Eons ago, back when I was fourteen, skinny and never moisturised (so that the creases of my nostrils perpetually flaked skin), I remember looking up at a group of 22-24 year-olds and thinking, ‘Wow, they’re so old and grown up’.
All I can say now is, what on earth was I thinking?
I’m pretty sure my fourteen-year-old self didn’t think she’d ever celebrate her 24th year with a picnic dinner on the lawn at night time.
Or rope her mum in to hiding lollies in the dark for a treasure hunt by touch light.
I’m also fairly certain she didn’t imagine sword fighting with chocolate dribbled fruit skewers.
But the thing I think is really hard to know at fourteen that you will at twenty-four…
Is organise a synchronised Toyota jump while eating homemade pizza.
And that after several gaping mouth attempts…
…you pull it off.
The only way to know these things is to have a magic crystal ball which I, at fourteen, did not possess.
If I went back in time and told my younger self, I’d celebrated my grown-up, mature age eating really sour lollies, camping on my parents’ property, playing pass-the-parcel, jumping on the trampoline at night, and sword fighting with chocolate dribbled fruit skewers…
She probably would have been horrified.
But with time she would have warmed up to the idea and goofed off as much as her older self did.
By my way of thinking, the best surprises are the ones we never see coming.
May you always stay young and goofy,
xx The Girl in Trousers