Wednesday, January 7

i want to go to there.

I’m turning 25 in a few days, a number I am very eager to reach because it has pretty solid clout. Professionally, I’ve been slightly sensitive about my age ever since a client—in her late twenties, no less!—told me over lunch that I was “too young” to understand the dating problem she was detailing to others at the table. (Even as I write that now I furrow my eyebrows in frustration-rage. If. She. Only. Knew.)

Personally, I can’t wait to be 25—that is until I realize this leaves me five years to, well, to do a lot of things I’ve always assumed would happen before the next big decade begins. I thought I’d even have one of those 1, 3, 5, and 10-year goal plan charts done by now. But I just… don’t want to. Vague notions of what will happen have always worked for me in the past, so why not now?

The fuzzy-unsure haze on the horizon is what makes it okay to age—it tricks you into thinking you’re still a fresh-faced graduate with every insane opportunity available, and not a young professional with a boyfriend, car, dog, and apartment you love so much you’d consider subletting it should you ever be required to move from Toronto.

But! Okay, yes. There are a few things I would add into my multi-year plan should I ever choose to make one. Such as: decorating a room in my future home with a Bisazza tile mosaic.




Stunning, right? It's managed to make luxe wallpaper prints look simply pedestrian and pushed the definition of “mosaic” far, far away from your aunt’s craft cupboard. I’m not even going to ask the price—perhaps in part because next decade me also imagines lots of disposable income in that hazy horizon.