There are some people out there who absolutely dread their twentieth birthday, the days come and go, and it’s only ten years away from thirty, another era of our lives where we will begin to question ourselves, but to me, even though I’ve spent months agonizing over age, I’ve realized that these birthdays will come and go and my life will continue to go on without me even batting an eyelash after they have. Maybe when I’m forty I’ll tell people I’m thirty, or maybe when I’m fifty I’ll tell people I’m thirty five, but the older I get, the more I realize that all this worrying that I’ve done as a young person has been, well, silly really.
So, what does it mean to “adult?” Do we ever learn? Is it taking out a mortgage or getting married and having a child that makes the fact we’re adult set in stone? We never really come to realize it really, or perhaps because I’m still only nineteen, I have years left before I look back at my life and think, “Wow, I’m really an adult now.” How I saw adults as a child to how I see them now has totally changed, but my perception of what an adult was when I was a child compared to how it is now, was a lot more intimidating and official looking.
Trivial and petty things are what have worried me the most over the years, because I haven’t really had any real problems to worry about. As a child I worried about going to school and being bored all day, as a young teenager I worried about whether or not I was “emo,” enough, which I now look back at and cringe in disgust at myself. Now, I worry about getting a blog post finished on time, or getting in to work on time every day. My problems are trivial, the things that play on my mind are still the problems of a naive teenager, at the end of the day.