Today I forgot my own age.
I searched for Emma Watson's speech and it came up with one of those mini bios. "Cast as Hermione at age nine, born in Paris, oh look, she's twenty four. Only five years older than I am and she's already giving speeches to the UN."
Wait. That number didn't sound right. I subtracted five from twenty four and got the usual answer, nineteen. I'm seventeen. I'll be eighteen next month, but I'm nowhere close to nineteen. How did I get that number?
I'm starting to think of my teenage years in past tense. When I'm mentally arranging my daily life into stories, I don't start with "today at school" or "the other day". I think "When I was a senior in high school."
Two years ago this would have horrified me. My age is such a huge part of my identity and it's a part I'm proud of. I didn't want to leave it behind. But you know what? I'm okay to do this. I can learn and grow. I can have new trials and passions. I can have days or weeks where I don't get riled up about ageism. Bodies and minds can age but my soul is eternal. Numbers don't bother it.
I filled up another one of my journals last week. Instead of ending with "Please don't forget who you were and what it's like to be a teenager," the way I usually do, I told myself, "I trust you. I think you're good."
Now that we're seniors, lots of my friends are going through this mid-youth crisis. But I got mine out of the way when I turned sixteen. I promised myself that I wouldn't make this year bittersweet. I can wax nostalgic for the rest of my life. But this is my last chance to be a high schooler.
Age, I'm not afraid. Bring it on.
I searched for Emma Watson's speech and it came up with one of those mini bios. "Cast as Hermione at age nine, born in Paris, oh look, she's twenty four. Only five years older than I am and she's already giving speeches to the UN."
Wait. That number didn't sound right. I subtracted five from twenty four and got the usual answer, nineteen. I'm seventeen. I'll be eighteen next month, but I'm nowhere close to nineteen. How did I get that number?
I'm starting to think of my teenage years in past tense. When I'm mentally arranging my daily life into stories, I don't start with "today at school" or "the other day". I think "When I was a senior in high school."
Two years ago this would have horrified me. My age is such a huge part of my identity and it's a part I'm proud of. I didn't want to leave it behind. But you know what? I'm okay to do this. I can learn and grow. I can have new trials and passions. I can have days or weeks where I don't get riled up about ageism. Bodies and minds can age but my soul is eternal. Numbers don't bother it.
I filled up another one of my journals last week. Instead of ending with "Please don't forget who you were and what it's like to be a teenager," the way I usually do, I told myself, "I trust you. I think you're good."
Now that we're seniors, lots of my friends are going through this mid-youth crisis. But I got mine out of the way when I turned sixteen. I promised myself that I wouldn't make this year bittersweet. I can wax nostalgic for the rest of my life. But this is my last chance to be a high schooler.
Age, I'm not afraid. Bring it on.
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