On ambition and getting older - by Jessica Kim

I have a 1 ft x 1 ft calendar on my kitchen wall where I sharpie in hangouts and weekend trips. It’s a habit I adopted from my ex-roommate whom I no longer talk to. Hers used to show different chicken breeds by month; mine is plain and laminated for reuse by the practical-minded. The fact that I don’t have to throw it out at year-end softens my anxiety about how quickly I’m turning over these pages. I’m almost twenty-nine, which means my youthful sense of invincibility is fading like ink in the sun. I still scoff at other people’s can’ts and shoulds, but mull over the same constraints once I’m alone. When I brush against precocity–seeing college classmates featured in Forbes 30 under 30, interviewing for a startup founded by a 21-year old, reading viral essays by Substack writers younger than I–I feel awe, not envy. A subtle shift from a chastening comparison to an avuncular admiration. Envy is reserved for those you have the possibility of emulating; my edge, I can say confidently rig

I have a 1 ft x 1 ft calendar on my kitchen wall where I sharpie in hangouts and weekend trips. It’s a habit I adopted from my ex-roommate whom I no longer talk to. Hers used to show different chicken breeds by month; mine is plain and laminated for reuse by the practical-minded. The fact that I don’t have to throw it out at year-end softens my anxiety about how quickly I’m turning over these pages. I’m almost twenty-nine, which means my youthful sense of invincibility is fading like ink in the sun. I still scoff at other people’s can’ts and shoulds, but mull over the same constraints once I’m