When I was a child, there was a certain part of me that pledged never to grow up, but I guess that happened before I understood the power of hormones. Nevertheless, that certain part forced me to keep running and playing silly games long after the normal tween has begun sauntering and swaggering and listening to pop music. I sometimes felt misunderstood by adults, and thought the only way to right this wrong was to avoid becoming one. I put the transition off as long as possible, and when it was forced on me, it took me a while to adjust to all the responsibility, and the decisions, and the bills, and the... grown-up-ness. I didn't particularly like being a kid, but I still hated growing up.
I turn 25 in October, and I might be having a tiny quarter life crisis, as i've just realized that not only am I not a kid, I'm not even near undergrad age anymore. In fact, I'm not even young 20s- no, my friends, this is the year I turn.... really old. I know it because I see little 2-year-olds that look at me with a blank stare, thinking I'm as old as their grandma, and because even teenagers- worshiped by youngsters the world over as having great experience and knowledge- seem young and, frankly, foreign.
But, surprisingly, I really like it. I really have no idea when i transitioned from begrudgingly accepting the responsibility of being an adult, to actually enjoying it, but it somehow happened. If you told me at 17 that I would be this happy at 25, I would think you were an idiot (I guess I imagined that, having already reached the prime of life, I could only go down hill from there...?) even as I realize that my body has an expiration date-- as the developing lines around my eyes remind me, gulp-- I realize that, as John Avery Whittaker has always proclaimed, "the best is yet to come", and I'm learning to embrace the future and enjoy the present. 'Cause it's a gift, blah, blah blah.