27: The Age Where Everyone Is Lost

 Turning 27 felt like being handed an invisible clipboard and told, “Okay, now explain what you’re doing with your life.” I blew out my birthday candles and immediately felt the weight of time press down on my chest like a dramatic pause in a sitcom before everything goes wrong. Thirty isn’t theoretical anymore, it’s nearby, fully dressed, waiting for me to make eye contact. And suddenly, I’m supposed to have direction. Certainty. A plan. As if life came with an instruction manual I somehow misplaced between 22 and my third identity crisis.

What no one tells you is that being lost at 27 is basically a canon event. Rachel Green was lost, ran away from her wedding, cut up credit cards, and learned how to be a real adult in real time. Jess from New Girl was lost, she had optimism, bangs, and chaos, but absolutely no idea what she was doing half the time. Over in How I Met Your Mother, Ted was 27 and spiraling over love, Marshall was panicking about adulthood, Lily was questioning her entire identity, and Robin was pretending she wasn’t emotionally confused by making career moves and drinking scotch. Everyone was lost. They just had laugh tracks and good lighting.

I, however, did not get a laugh track. I got a quiet, internal breakdown. The kind where you’re functional during the day and then lie awake at night staring at the ceiling like a deeply troubled indie movie character. Because there is so much pressure on young adults to arrive by their late twenties. To have a career path, emotional stability, healed trauma, and a Pinterest-worthy life. There’s this constant rush, like you’re late to a destination no one properly explained. And the moment you stop running, you feel like you’re failing.

But here’s the most unserious yet comforting fact: my frontal lobe finished developing at 25. Which means it is two years old. A baby. A toddler with opinions. She’s new. She’s still figuring things out. She occasionally makes decisions and immediately needs a nap. But she’s trying. I finally recognize patterns. I see red flags instead of calling them “charming.” I understand consequences, even if I don’t always love them. Growth didn’t come with fireworks, it came quietly, mid-spiral, while I was questioning my entire existence.

In these 27 years, I’ve learned that life is not a straight line, it’s more like a chaotic sitcom plot where everyone’s winging it. I’ve learned that you can be behind and exactly where you’re meant to be at the same time. That changing your mind is allowed. That rest is productive. That success looks different when you stop measuring it with someone else’s ruler. I’ve learned that losing people doesn’t always mean losing yourself and sometimes, it’s the opposite.

There was a time when I didn’t think I’d get here. Depression shrinks your future until survival becomes the only goal. Dreams feel unrealistic. Travel feels impossible. Wanting more feels greedy. So standing at 27 with curiosity instead of fear feels like a quiet victory. I don’t want to rush anymore. I want to experience life fully: see places, feel things, say yes to moments instead of constantly bracing for the next disaster.

So yes, I’m 27. I’m lost. But so was Rachel. So was Jess. So was literally everyone in every sitcom who eventually figured it out while making terrible decisions along the way. Being lost doesn’t mean you’re failing, it means you’re still in the story. And if this is the season where I wander, learn, and slowly become myself, then honestly? I’m okay with that.

All aboard the Hot Mess Express.
Next stop: wherever the hell we’re going and trusting we’ll figure it out. 🚂✨