I am an adult, and that terrifies and excites me beyond belief. This weekend, I will reach the great milestone of age 22 (a brand new milestone I just made up). But when I sit down and look at myself at this point in my life, I am more of an adult than a child.
The other day, I came across a blog entry on Thought Catalog entitled “20 People You Will Meet in Your 20s.” As I read through the list, I began to count. Sixteen. “The awesome roommate … the social networker … the person who never left your hometown …” I have been in my 20s for just two years now, and I’ve already met 16 out of the 20 notable people this article claims I will come across in the next eight years? I’ll only meet four more?
Now, I know that I can’t take this blog post completely seriously, obviously I will meet several people in the next few years, but what really jarred me was that I am an adult. Sort of. I mean, if I’ve already met so many of these people, I’ve already become 4/5 of an adult (if you do the math, which I oftentimes don’t). Soon, I will be out “there,” on my own, somewhere in the wide world, hopefully with a big-girl job.
What a horrifying thought. I am so not ready to be an adult.
But then again, maybe I am. There is nothing more exciting for me to think about than all the possibilities that are out there. I have no idea where I will be a year from now, but the potential of what I could be doing is through the roof. Scary, yes, but also exciting. I’m no Peter Pan. I want to grow up.
Maybe I do only have four more interesting people to meet before I reach my next age milestone, but even if that’s true, I can guarantee the next eight years will be interesting. And that makes me want to grow up even more.