In my early twenties I longed to be 28, because in my mind it signified time passing and progress. I imagined that at 28 I’d have control of my life and would be happily self-employed, traveling often and moving from project to project. I’m 27 years old, and I’m not sure that in eleven months I’ll be as carefree or as settled as younger me envisioned. I’ve definitely become more grounded, and I’m way more focused on my creative work, but I really don’t feel that I have it as together as young me imagined. And yet, I've built and I've used my fire, and the messiness has turned out to be very important in all this.
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