In July two people very close to my heart hit major life milestones; my best friend got married and my cousin had her first baby. I cried at the wedding, got drunk toasting the new arrival and wondered whether I’d be hitting any of my own milestones any time soon. I felt compelled to compare myself to these precocious 26- and 27-year-olds—and wondered if I’d soon achieve anything worth celebrating with confetti and cake and champagne, besides making it into my 26th year.
My friend Joe and his beautiful Finnish bride, Frida, tied the knot on a Wednesday at Southwark registry office—somewhere along Peckham Road. This was a small-scale, intimate wedding on account of the fact it was happening a little prematurely. Yes, Joe and Frida are very much in love (and I’m not just saying that in case the Home Office is reading), but their wedding was brought forward by a need that goes beyond pure romance; Frida needed a visa to move to the UK, and getting married to a British citizen (Joe) was the easiest way to obtain her right to live here. You could say their union was a direct consequence of Brexit. It is perhaps the one result of Brexit that I’m not mad about.
Joe and Frida each had seven guests. Both opted to omit relatives in favour of their “chosen family”, their best friends. This was my first “adult wedding”, one where the bride and groom were not part of my family and I was invited without my parents. With a small budget, some wedding jobs were done in-house by friends of the bride and groom. My best friend Isobel arranged flowers and made the cake, one of Frida’s friends (a professional chef) put on a Finnish spread, while I was the designated photographer. The fact that many of us were able to contribute directly to the running of events made it feel all the more precious. We weren’t just there to get drunk; we were there to ensure the smooth running of our best friends’ big day.
The Finns had arrived a few days before the ceremony, and between them they transformed Joe and Isobel’s back garden into the most beautiful wedding venue. They’d hired a gazebo, and decked it out in pink silk, white lace and handmade paper flowers. Alcohol was free-flowing and the vibes were immaculate. There were speeches, tears, food and games. I’d never seen Joe look so happy. It was perfect.
That same weekend, I caught a train up to Stafford for my cousin’s pre-baby-bash (not to be confused with the gauche, American baby shower). My uncle dutifully picked me up from the station and drove me to the expecting couple. For context, my cousin is more like a sister, and we spent much of our childhood together. I was a bridesmaid at her wedding just a few years ago, where—in chaotic younger-cousin style—I got egregiously drunk and shagged a groomsman. Oops.
Both the bride and groom parties were in full attendance at the pre-baby party, as well as most of my extended family. When probed about my life in London, I bashfully talked about my writing and my job in sustainability, and lamented the expense of living in the capital. While my cousin was growing another human being, I’d spent the past nine months binge drinking on the weekend and bashing myself over the head about my writing career (or lack thereof).
I’m still a good few years off even considering sharing a living space with my partner. At 25 I’m far off planning for a wedding or a family. Until this month, I’d given no thought to these milestones. But seeing those nearest and dearest to me jet off into married life and motherhood, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was on the verge of falling behind.
Marriage, babies—you could say my peers are racing ahead in the so-called “Game of Life” (if we’re playing by Hasbro’s rules). Between weddings and baby showers, I started to feel a touch insecure about my own station in life. Granted I have no interest in getting married or having babies for at least another half-a-decade, but it’s only natural to yearn for what others have—especially when you bear witness to their joy.
There are plenty of pithy takeaways I could conclude this with. “Comparison is the thief of joy”; “everyone has their own path”; “life’s about the journey, not the destination”. Blah, blah, blah. But for anyone grappling with the uncertainty of their twenties (and the current political climate), these statements usually fall on deaf ears. We can’t hear you over the climate crisis, the rise of fascism and the AI slop.
It’s challenging to lean into the uncertainty of what lies ahead, but I’ll try to worry less about which landmarks I’ll make or miss. Instead, I’ll take every opportunity there is to bask in the glow of my friends’ and family’s milestone moments.
