This month marks not only the two-month milestone in my field research year, but also the beginning of my last year I am able to call myself a “twenty-something.”

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but it has gotten me thinking how I’ve reached a stage in my life where I probably can’t “get away with” certain things anymore. Certain mistakes that were washed off my slate because I was “still young” and naïve or immature. This isn’t to say that I believe I can no longer afford to make mistakes (because they can, and will most definitely happen). More like I at least shouldn’t be making the same ones as when I was a college student, etc.

It’s hard in this world and society we live in to not think about getting old like it’s a bad thing. To feel that if you don’t do x or y or z by the time you’re 25 or 30 or 50 you’re behind everyone else. It’s near impossible not to think about it. That you might be running out of time to be what you are to be. To “make something of yourself,” if you will, or at least leave a footprint behind in something more substantial than sand or snow.

I remember planning my future, marking the stages in years and age. I still do, sometimes. Maybe that’s why I have times when I feel so low. Having no standard way to measure my progress here makes it difficult to stay confident and certain. “Is this where I should be at this point? Am I even doing this right?” Then comes the ominous pressure and doubt; the empty pit in the stomach sensation when I consider whether I am actually even capable of writing such a massive project even after all this research is said and done.

It’s at times like these when I think about quitting, or wish there was a way to press the reset button and start everything over. But in the end I keep going. I’m still walking. One step at a time.