When you Google “turning 27”, you find that the general consensus on reaching this age is that it’s a weird time in your life when your whole world turns around.
According to astrology, it’s at age 27 when Saturn starts its return to your zodiac sign, signalling the transition from your ‘Phase of Youth’ to your ‘Phase of Maturity’. As I take it, it’s a time to assess your ascension into full-fledged adulthood and re-evaluate the areas of your life that need changing. From the experience of others, this period of self-discovery is described as either fulfilling or fucked-up.
Then there are the countless articles that chronicle how 27 is a pivotal year for many. As The Awl declares, at 27, you are at your most beautiful and your most destructive. It’s the age of creative genius, when Paul McCartney wrote “Let It Be”, Jimmy Page composed “Stairway to Heaven”, Marilyn Monroe starred in “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”, and Shakespeare drafted up his first play. On the flip side, it’s also an age of descent and tragedy, as 27 was the year when notable musicians Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse died (the phenomenon known as The 27 Club).
Hmm. All this is really reassuring for the aging late-twentysomething, innit?
It doesn’t help that songs suddenly become less like Taylor Swift’s upbeat “22” and more like Fall Out Boy’s “27“, which asks the big question, “Are all the good times getting gone?”. As I get closer and closer to hitting 30, I have to fight off the demons in my mind that deem me a failure for not being anywhere close to ‘settled down’ (a concept that honestly scares the shit out of me).
So yeah, I haven’t figured it all out yet, but as I’ve learned during these past couple years, nobody does or ever will. Instead of getting the birthday blues and fretting about getting older, I choose to make the best of this time of unlimited self-discovery and view the uncertainties as moments of untapped opportunities, ready for me to embrace with everything I’ve got.