Oh, So THIS Is the Quarterlife Crisis Everyone Talked About?

I actually convinced myself I’d skip the quarterlife crisis thing, or that if I ever did experience it, it would be beautiful and hilarious and not unlike a "Sex and the City" episode—easily tied together with a few rhetorical questions. As I turned twenty-four almost exactly a year ago, I was feeling confident that I’d breeze through the anxiety-ridden twenties with ease. What were people talking about? (Looking at you, ThoughtCatalog bloggers.) I wasn’t yearning for my college days; I wasn’t making a slew of horrible decisions; I wasn’t constantly asking my parents for money. When "Girls" debuted, I felt only the slightest sting of recognition that was easy to wave away because the characters seemed like caricatures of my deepest, most hidden away insecurities. I had things figured out.

But as my 25th birthday looms in about a week, it turns out I have nothing figured out. Nothing. (Except perhaps bottomless mimosa brunch next week, where I plan to look for the meaning of life in endless champagne.) The quarter-life crisis is hitting me harder than I ever imagined. Probably because I spent my 24th year being smugly above the plights of my peers. Kharma—it’s a lesson of your twenties, apparently. Now, I feel closer to who I was at 15—unsure, cautious, insecure—than who I’d thought I’d be at 25—self-assured, confident, with a bangin’ bod.

These are some of the growing pains that have smacked me in the face as I approach the quarter-century mark. Sound familiar?