You're 23. It's raining and you've just got back from your boyfriend's place after a sleepy, slow morning of coffee, cigarettes and sex. You order a burrito from Uber eats for breakfast because it's 1.30pm and you CAN. There's work to do- cleaning, a painting commission, and a bunch of other organisational things. You turned 23 on Thursday, and the initial panic of determination to make 23 the year you get your shit together (and being scared shitless that you won't live up to your expectations of yourself) from the night before has subsided, replaced by a quiet confidence. Maybe 23 won't be the year you do everything you want to do but it'll be a stepping stone. You can't do 1000 things at once and you don't need to. The sense of urgency from your university days to be Successful has evaporated because you know now the world will keep on spinning regardless of whether you went to the gym or not. And that's okay. It's okay to not make New Years resolutions anymore, it's ok to live your life in chaos and not have a five year plan. It's okay to have a laughable savings account and not remember the last day you washed your hair. Every time you fight with your boyfriend it feels like the end of the world but you learn that it's not, and it gets easier every time. You learn that sobbing over photos of your cat when you're feeling fragile doesn't fix anything and to put yourself to bed instead of breaking your heart. You're 23 now, and breaking up your time working on a painting and trying to put into words how you feel about life at the moment. It's sentimental and emotional. There's a lot to be grateful for. You've lived and learned and grown and fended for yourself for 23 years, and despite every existential crisis and tear filled nights and the days where you skip meals because you're too broke and the busy days and the days you feel like you're in a rut- you know you'll be okay. So enjoy where you are now, put yourself to bed, read your book and listen to the rain. You don't have to be anything else right now.