In just over a month, I will be twenty years old. Up until this point, I always identified more with kids a couple of years older than I was, since I grew up with older siblings. When I was twelve, I felt fourteen, and when I was sixteen, I felt eighteen, and now that I'm (almost) twenty, I just feel... completely terrified. Unworthy and unready for this title of Twenty. I was driving around with my best friend several months ago, musing about life, when Jess asked, "When did everything get so real?" And that's exactly what it's like. Our teenage years are so superficial-- the basis for so many larger-than-life movies full of Cliques and Drama-- that I spent the entire decade feeling like I was just "playing life." But I'm about to be twenty. As in "She's in her twenties." As in real life.
I don't know. It's like, for my whole life up until this point, I'd dream about getting some unusual and interesting engagement ring, and having a wedding with a chocolate fountain, and living in some city apartment with mismatched garage sale silverware, and being the cute pregnant lady at the grocery store, and giving my army of perfect children all sorts of ridiculous literary names, and wearing high heels to the job where everyone obviously adores me, and then sort of, like, dying with a million grandchildren around. That's how it goes, right? Hmm?
But God. Lately, I feel like I've just been shaken awake too early from an afternoon nap. Apparently, marriage is so hard that barely half of those who attempt it succeed. And apparently it's really, really unlikely that you'll make a living off being occasionally clever. And apparently you're going to screw up your kids no matter how hard you try, and they'll never be exactly what you want them to, and apparently a whole lot of people lie and steal and have affairs and apparently your body doesn't stay hot forever. So maybe you get a chocolate fountain at your wedding, but you also get fifty years of stretch marks and bankruptcy and sadness.
Is that really how it is? You work through high school to get to college, you work through college to get a job, and then. What? Is Real Life exactly like being a teenager, but trading uncertainty for disappointment? I don't want to dread the majority of my time on earth. Maybe I just don't get it. But for now, I'm really scared.
Wow. That was uplifting. Older readers, I'd appreciate your input on this one, if you don't mind. Am I looking at it wrong? Am I not mature enough to get it yet? Is it okay?
Today, I saw: my good friends, Tom and Maria, who directed my high school musicals. Tom's in this really cute Beatles tribute band (he's George), and they were performing downtown tonight for an audience of mostly families and older, drunker people embarrassing themselves. I sat in a crowd of retirees and their blue-haired babes, twisting and shouting as much as their oxygen tanks would allow.
Today, I heard: cute men in wigs pretending to be British.
Today, I touched: my mom's back, as if to say, "Okay, Mother. You can stop dancing in public now."
Today, I smelled: that ambient festival aroma of garbage and beer cans.
Today, I tasted: these beautiful fruit kebabs that my sisters made for a family picnic.
Chipotle burritos this year: 23
Nail color: "Through the Grapevine," Wet 'n' Wild