Hello, 27 — Suzey Ingold

Hello, 27, it’s 26. The last days of 26, I should say, the falling hours before the then becomes the now. In case one day, you should look back, and wonder what these days were like, I thought I might remind you. Of where you’ve been, of where you’re going, and of all the reasons to smile today.

My mother said to me recently, “you know who you are”. It was an off-hand comment, the context already forgotten to me. But the words lingered on my mind, long after we ended our call, trailing after me in the days to come. They were words I had often thought, myself, but somehow, now more than ever, they felt true. I suppose it would be reductive to say that I did not know myself at 24, or 25 – more accurate to say, perhaps, that it was just a different self that I knew.

But now, as 26 tips into 27, I realise what it really means. In those younger years, I was still too apt to changing, to shifting into the mould wished of me from my environment and those in it. I was still trying to fit the me that I was into the world around me – instead of trying to fit the world around me to the me I have always been.

The usual, existential dread of another year passed did not come this year – or, at least, not in the way it usually does. I did not regret the year that was nor the time I would not get back. I did not think wistfully on where I should have been by now, or what I once thought was the place to be. I looked around, at the little life I have created, and thought only: yes, this is good.

In these last days of 26, I have been the most me that has ever been me. In case 27 should bring moments of doubt – as it surely will, for I am yet human, or at least I should hope to be – I must only remember who I was in these days. Remember what I have to offer, and those that have recognised that. Remember what I am creating, entire worlds from words that I now bring to others. Remember, too, how this past year has changed our world, and how I’ve adapted, and what a day’s work currently brings.

Remember the joy. The joy of drinking prosecco in the park on a Sunday morning, between a mound of French toast and an entire birthday cake. The pain of the sunburn that will flare bright on my legs as I settle in for the afternoon, avoiding the searing heat as I talk with my friends, with my brother. One eye tracking an Everest summit attempt as I cook into the evening with a beer in hand, the kitchen all the dance floor I need as I sing broken Italian while the peas boil over.

You know who you are.

All I can ask from 27 is this: to keep being exactly that. No matter the pain or the joy or the doubt. No matter the day of the week nor the colour of the sky. Be only who you are and let the world unfold as it will. There are paths yet to discover, winding routes that you may only now be ready for. Take them. You’ve rarely held back from the unknown before and now is not the time to start.

Hello, 27. I hope you are kind. But between you and me? I think it’s going to be a pretty good year.