25

When I was young, I wrote a letter to my 25-year-old self, to be read when I was older and wiser.

Yesterday, the day before my 25th birthday, I went looking for that letter, hoping to find musings from middle school me - but alas, no luck. What I did find, under my bed, in no particular order: Letters from campers, lunch box notes from my mom, a fuzzy stick-on mustache, old songwriting notebooks, doodles from high school friends, all of my old journals and an exclusive interview, written on my old typewriter, with my best friend from first grade. 

I have always suspected I had a hoarding problem, but this confirmed it.

Even though I don't know what my younger self had to say,  I do hope she would be proud.

I guess I always thought 25 was super adult, super mature. (To be fair, I resisted wearing the stick-on mustache.) So maybe we always think that we will have it more together at some future date. I've come to realize that everyone's always learning. 

One thing that hasn't changed at 25? My love for red velvet cake.

So far the lead-up to 25 has been wonderful: Outback with the family, pink vinyl, quiet weekend mornings, cups of green tea, surprise cupcakes (the best kind of cupcakes). 

And now, it's finally here.

LET'S DO THIS, 25.

Odes to 24, 23, 22, and 21 also available for your viewing pleasure in the archives.

But wait! I need your recommendations!

Y'all, I need all the recommendations for books and movies and music to listen to in September. Enlighten me with your knowledge! And thanks for reading!