It's miserable and magical, oh yeah

They say the first step is admitting that you have a problem, so here goes. My name is Robyn and I have been dancing around my bedroom in my pyjamas and singing into a hairbrush listening to Taylor Swift's '22' on repeat for the last two weeks.

The problem is, I think I'm ok with it. After wasting endless hours on thoughtcatalog reading bullshit articles about how hard and depressing your 20s are, articles such as 9 Things You're Too Old For In Your 20s; 10 Lessons Everyone Learns In Their 20s; and Types Of Women Men Like Better Than Me, dressing up like hipsters and making fun of our ex's sounds frankly idyllic.

I moved to Amsterdam to do a Master's degree - which retrospectively has to be one of the least thought out and impulsive decisions I've made, probably ever, and I don't mean the moving here bit. I was too chicken to pack up and make the move alone so I fell back on studying here, making the journey a marginally easier ride - students get huge social induction events; students get accommodation; students get free stuff. Turns out the words 'study' and 'Amsterdam' aren't friends. They despise each other actually. In fact, Amsterdam is a total possessive and jealous boyfriend and won't let me spend any time with study. He's whiny, he's needy, he requires my full attention at all times but for everything he takes, man does he give back! It's not me, it's Amsterdam, it's impossible to do anything other than play here.Yet every time I find myself in a downwards spiral of study neglect and guilt, I just gotta listen to Taylor telling me how 22 is supposed to be and I realise that I'm absolutely doing it right.

Yes, life can be about succeeding, creating opportunities and securing a good job; getting paid to do what you love, something that challenges you daily but you feel passionate about, care about. But the longer I spend living away from the UK, away from home, the more I've realised that life is really about those little things that happen in between. Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. The accidental four day benders you find yourself amongst on Easter weekend; late night scouring the streets for dodgy bike dealings; crazy nights with old friends collecting naughty and hilarious stories, using one hand to drunkenly balance on the back of someones bike whilst the other sends out a "you'll never guess what just happened to me..." text; wasting money at the fair because you really want that kinda creepy looking 'I Love You' bear, leaving every ride in physical pain from laughing so damn hard; hell, even hangover days curled up on a friends sofa sobbing at The Lion King while he runs out to buy English tea and pancakes.

Despite all the neglect I have given (am giving) my thesis. I guess there is something I'm learning from finally getting down some words and introducing concepts of narratology and narrative theory. Life is a narrative and your 20s are about writing yours. You can't go back and change it but you can learn from your misinterpretations of previous chapters, your mistakes. Just don't read the last page first, don't ruin the twist, it's the best part.