Fly

I turned 24.

When I was little I used to climb up on the counter in the bathroom and half kneel by the sink in the mirror, estimating how tall I would be in my twenties. That little girl had so much expectation about who she would be.

The career- path dreams changed (first National Geographic employee, then dancer, then yoga-teacher, then journalist) but my desires remained the same, I wanted to create change.

The number of 24 suddenly struck me. Not because of its significance, but because of the significance of 25. Because I am approaching the height of expectation of the little girl I once was.

I know what you're thinking. I know I have time, years and years, I know I am young (blah, blah, blah).

But I want to reach that quarter-century and be building something that resembles a life.

I am tired of believing that my age makes my time, energy and emotions disposable. That because I am young I need to lead a life that is frivolous and have relationships to match.

In the past two years since moving to Toronto, I have been more of a "typical young-person" than ever in my life.

Gone was the girl who trained, sweat, bled, cried and lost sleep for her ambitions.

Instead, I tried on rebellion. I hung out with people who weren't good for me, I stayed home, ate bad food, didn't hand in my homework. I kissed girls, kissed boys who smoked cigarettes and pretended I didn't care. I went to Sneak-Dees (five whole times). And now, I stand at the other end, knee deep in self-resentment, realizing that angst isn't what its cracked up to be.

I was always a girl with a dream. And I still am.

But I am also now a woman who doesn't want to live in a dream world anymore. A woman who wants to make dreams into reality. Many of my dreams have come true, but I am ready to cash in on some of the big ones. The ones that felt so big that they were impossible, the dreams about the things that meant something to me. The ones about making change, about living in a way that makes me feel proud to wake up in the morning, about allowing myself to feel whole.

So, I've wiped my slate clean, cleaned skeletons from the closet.

I've been talking honestly for the first time ever. I've told people when they hurt me, when they angered me, when I felt negatively. And something magic happened: they didn't run, they didn't retaliate, they didn't leave or tell me to.

I've purged the old relationships and what-if's my heart was hanging on to and hoping for. I've sifted through old and new dreams and ambitions. I've studied old wounds and realized I don't want to use them as excuses to hold back anymore. I've reached out to old friends and new ones. I've taken a good long look in the mirror, at the mistakes and the messes I've created and realized I know how to clean them up and best get to it.

I stand now, and realize that I am ready to live. Really, really live.

I have a city of possibility.

A home.

Friends who are family.

In the past, I've had inspiration and vision, but for the first time I feel like I can clearly see my own potential. I see that I haven't risen to it. As I stood on the edge of achieving my dreams I was missing the faith in myself to take that final leap. Toward success, toward rewarding relationships and friendships, toward stability, intimacy and achievement, all the things that have for so long scared me.

But now, I am ready. Scared, but ready.

I'm going to jump.

If I don't land on the other side... well, then I might just discover I can fly.