I have found out that it’s appropriate that my birthday is in the fall. It’s a time of change, transition, and letting go. This past Saturday I turned 20. TWENTY. That means I’m two decades old. I found myself feeling the same way the leaves on the trees looked: hanging on to the last bit of the year refusing to let go until I was forced to.
The biggest realization I had about turning 20 is that I would no longer be a teenager. I would not be clumped into that group of people who are thought of as youthful, adventurous, or impulsive. Granted, I would also be away from the stereotypes of immaturity, apathetic, and full of angst.
I am now a 20-something.
But what does that even mean? So far I’m taking it to mean somewhere between a “young person” and an “adult” who can’t decide if she is excited for the future or frightened by it.
I’m a sophomore in college and having the time of my life. Why on Earth would I ever want to leave? All of the fun and not too terribly much responsibility (though enough to stress me out just about every day).
But then I see friends and colleagues getting jobs in their field, getting engaged, and starting families. And there’s no doubt that I want those things.
I’ve realized over the past couple of years that I have a bad habit of thinking too far ahead and only keeping the future in mind. So while I’m in this transitional year, I’m going to try to get better about living in the present. Because if I look back at the past, I’ll probably feel sad about how old I am. And if I look ahead, then I’ll become anxious about how old I’m close to being.
So I’m going to rock this year of my existence. I’ll begin this new era with an enthusiasm for life like I’ve never had before.