It’s an odd year. I’ve been nineteen since October, but it feels just like eighteen. I’m not exactly a teenager anymore (despite “teen” being in the name, I think the real teenage years with all the angst end after seventeen), but I’m not a twentysomething yet.
It’s a bizarre age. I can do all the things I could do when I was eighteen…buy a lottery ticket, go see an R rated movie, I think you see my point.
Nineteen sort of feels like a holding cell, or waiting room for the capital R “Real World“. Because twenty-one will be the last age with a sort of reward for getting older. And that honestly scares me. I really, really like the age I am now. I’ve loved the age I have been since I was seventeen. I feel like soon (probably three and a half years) this waiting room of ages is gonna empty, and my name will be called to cross the stage (hopefully at graduation) and enter the Real World.
As afraid of the Real World as I am, I think it’s just something I’m going to need to embrace. There is no reason to alter anything just so I can deal with this Real World, but I need to dive in headfirst, whenever the Real World decides to present itself.
Thankfully, I have a few more years before the Real World is actually coming. But in college, you’re surrounded by people who are really about to enter the Real World, and that makes you very aware of it.
I have ten months left of nineteen, and then the teenage years will be behind me.
Who wants to help me decorate this waiting room and live it up until my name is called? We’ve got three and a half years to make it count.