The Quarter-Century Life Crisis is the New Mid-Life Crisis. Little Black Dress Optional.

One month.

And my last official summer will be... OVAH.

WHERE. DID. IT. GO...

While I did get my awesome family vacation and my schedule is considerably less ridiculous than the previous school year, the last couple of months have proven frustrating and confusing. It's been a humid, hazy rush of summer school, working on photography projects, helping John prepare for the Bar (and the possible major life changes thereafter), teaching fitness classes like crazy, and, worst of all, figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. The extra time in my schedule has left me alone with my thoughts... and frankly, those thoughts are more real and heavy than any 30 page writing assignment. The anxiety of not knowing what's next and having no real control over what's going to happen in the coming months has made enjoying my time off from school almost worse than my 100 hour work weeks. The feeling that maybe I wasted my summer has me even more wound-up. Thus continues the vicious cycle. 

Ugh.

I am twenty-five years old and still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I don't feel like settling down and I don't feel like I've seen or done enough. I've got a serious case of wanderlust, taxes and insurance scare the bejeezus out of me, and gin is far more interesting than home decor and bed linens (sorry, fancy friends). Student debt is forever in the back of my head, but all I can think about is the newly released boots for fall at Anthropologie for which I'm considering donating a kidney to be able to buy (thanks a lot to Carly over at AGC for making me dream of cooler temps and warm fall fashioooon).... 

I grew up to be a highly ambitious kid. I was the self-motivated, all-A student with an obsession for detail and planning and protocol. I worked hard and made sure everyone knew it. I had a lot motivating me to get out of the small place I lived and not stop until I was the one running the show. I didn't like things easy or simple. I didn't like not being busy. I thought the only way to be anyone or anything was to burn my candle at both ends... and never ask for help.

But deep down, I was a goofy kid with a hearty grin and a kind of confidence that let me wear a red & black mixed patterned bathing suit with a faded orange scrunchie.

I turned that crappy little plastic pool and flimsy chairs into an oasis rivaling Atlantis, sipping kool-aid cocktails with my equally stylish sister (on the right). Summers meant a chance to let my imagination catapult into new dimensions, exacerbated by my intense love for reading, old movies, and running in calculated, dizzying spirals that set me into the most brilliant trance. I caused considerable concern to my parents, but little did they know I was developing my creative processes. 

And at twenty-five years old, I've collided into myself. A big, fiery, noxious explosion of WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME just erupted in the crossroads of my life. 

And dang-it-all, if there's one thing I've learned in my quarter-century on this planet, it's that cool guys don't look back at explosions.

Looks like I'm going to need those Anthropologie boots* after all.
(*Not to mention Nancy Sinatra's beehive bump and fab lashes. I've already got the sculpted legs covered.) 

I'm over the fact that 25 is "old." I'm over the "20-something" complex that expects me to feel like a washed up old hag because I'm not married, having kids, working a sexy job, or drinking cosmos with gal pals and complaining about EVERYTHING. I'm over the repressed feelings of guilt for taking the extra time to find out what makes me happy and, dare I say, passionate about, and for exploring my my interests before settling on the first convenient option. I'm over selling myself short because I don't have a fancy name badge or office. I know what's important to me, and I'm trying to simplify my life so I can properly devote my energy and enthusiasm to the right causes. To the right people. To the right battles and moments of truth. To the people who are selflessly willing to help. To the appropriate times of existing, right then and there, for no other reason than just because.

I'm over being patronized for having a need to fulfill something and move and shake until positive and innovative changes come to parts of our daily lives that are in such desperate need of it. I'm over the idea that I need to be moving 100mph until I've exploded or every second of "free time" means I should be "productive." 

Out of my collision, I've decided that merging my doofy, mismatched inner creative spirit with my disciplined, all-A, Type-A quirks is okay (for the record, what IS a "Type-B"?). 

I am twenty-five years old and I will take my fresh stack of magazines hijacked from a friend who's moving and go sit at the pool I have free access to because that's where I am in my life. Beating my head against the wall in hopes all my sent emails and phone calls and resumes and applications will suddenly yield a slew of results if I sit in my apartment and wait by the computer is, obviously, not going to happen. But a tan... that could happen.

And in honor of my five-year-old self, I will wear a mismatched suit.

C'mon, July. We have some catching up to do.

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For for those of you interested, the Celia G Photographie page has been created! View lastest and favorite work, and shoot me an email for rates, details, or just to let me know what you think. :D