EVER since I can remember, I’ve cried on my birthday.
I could never quite pinpoint why.
Maybe it’s the feeling that time is moving too fast or the emotional weight of the past year all hitting me at once.
I’m still not entirely sure.
But after talking with some friends, I fear this ordeal may be a “canon event” – something that shapes a person’s identity or is seen as a universal part of a shared experience – (and that I’ve potentially never had an original thought in my life).
That said, this year was different.
Not because I didn’t cry – of course I did.
But this time the tears weren’t about turning 26, or the constant reminders at family parties that I’ve still not bought a house, got married or had a baby (the infamous Plan A).
This time I cried because of a sense of relief – relief that I’m still here.
Which makes complete sense, because this year my birthday landed on the same week that marked one year since I found out I was cancer free.
However, some of the relief also came from the realisation that I haven’t yet ticked off those big life events referred to above.
Instead, I felt happiness knowing there is still a possibility of all of those things happening to me at some point in the future – if I decide they’re actually what I want.
And when or if that time does come, it would be on my terms and my timeline.
Don’t get me wrong, this is all based on personal experience and preference (so take what I write with a pinch of salt).
In no way am I shaming or criticising anyone who has decided to do all or any of those things before the age of 26.
Honestly, good for you.
But for me, right now, I’m still figuring things out.
I’m not looking to rush into making life-altering decisions just to tick boxes on someone else’s timeline.
I used to think I wanted Plan A, the version of adulthood I grew up seeing in movies, in books, in the lives of our parents.
A plan that falsely promised “success” if you just did things in the right order: meet someone, get married, buy a house, have a baby – and ideally all before 30.
Apparently, all it took was a pandemic and a cancer diagnosis for me to finally stop and ask myself the question: “Is this actually what I want, or is this just what I think is expected of me?”
This lingering question and a conversation I had with one of my oldest friends sparked the inspiration for this column.
It was her birthday this week – she turned 27. (Happy birthday, Kira!)
She recently handed in her notice and is moving to New Zealand in September – something that definitely wasn’t part of her original plan.
To our generation, her decision isn’t seen as a failure.
It’s something to be celebrated, as she’s following a new path, even if it looks nothing like the one she imagined in her teens.
But ask the older generation, and you might get a different reaction.
“Unmarried, no job, leaving her family and friends behind – does she know what she’s doing?”
Thirty years ago, she might have even been progressing towards being labelled “the fun aunt” – code for a woman without kids or a husband.
It’s an outdated stereotype that implies someone’s life is incomplete if it doesn’t revolve around completing Plan A within the allotted timeframe. It implies that if you choose any alternate path in life, it means you haven’t got your sh*t together.
But guess what? In 2025, you can feel happy, whole and fulfilled without needing to pop out the cast of The Sound of Music.
This week, Kira and I laughed and reminisced about our teenage years while teasing our younger selves for all the time we spent meticulously planning our imaginary futures.
Back then, we were so certain we’d have it all figured out at the grand age of 26 and 27.
But over the years our list of goals has grown and evolved, just as we have as people.
As time went on, and I was faced with life’s curveballs, I began to wonder whether I was building a life I genuinely wanted, or one that simply looked good on paper.
Were my goals determined by outside influence, expectation and stereotypes?
Did they really align with this current version of myself and what I really want in life, or were they appeasing an old and outdated version of me?
I realised that my own Plan A was built on outdated ideals.
It mirrored the narratives fed to me in childhood – those romanticised versions of adulthood where success meant settling down early and achieving milestones by a socially acceptable age.
Most of those models – let’s be honest – haven’t exactly aged well, as the majority of our parents are now divorced.
The idea that success is tied to marriage, property and parenthood feels increasingly out of sync and doesn’t align with the life that I, and many others, are trying to build.
These “achievements” once held real weight, but this idea is outdated and has run its course in previous generations.
I don’t want my success to be measured by the assets I have and the number of babies or husbands I have at home.
Don’t get me wrong, milestones matter – but their meaning should be dictated by you, not tradition, media outlets, or anyone else.
Many people in my age group share this perspective and frustrations.
We’re no longer interested in buying into the generic and glamorised life that was sold to us at a young age.
We no longer want the entirety of our worth to be determined by a premeditated and outdated timeline that sets up life to feel like a race against one another.
We want the freedom to say, “that’s not for me”, without receiving judgment or disappointment.
And who knows, maybe I’ll still get married, buy a house, or have kids. Maybe I won’t.
Whatever I choose, I want it to be because I want it, not because I was too afraid to disappoint people by choosing a different path.
