That One Time I Became an Adult

I forgot to blog yesterday.  Whoops.

I am 21 years old.  I can legally drink, but I’m under covenant so I have to wait until graduation.  That’s okay though.  I’ve reached the ultimate age.  There’s not really any exciting ages where things become possible because they’re age restricted after the age of 21.  Except for maybe being able to order off the cheaper senior menu when you’re 55, but that’s not something I’m necessarily looking forward too.  So I guess that I am officially an adult.

I was talking to my roommate the other day and I said something about a girl (something nice) and I said, “but she’s only nineteen…”  And then I realized that I used to think 19 was old.  My roommate then said, “I remember when I thought 18 was old.”  And I remembered when I thought 16 was old.  And when I thought eighth grade was old.  I’ve already surpassed this all, and I still feel very young.  I don’t feel like an adult.  I don’t feel that much older than those who are in high school.  I feel as if I was just in high school myself.  Things seemed that much more important then.

When I was in high school I thought I had so much wisdom.  I couldn’t possibly fathom why dating at that age was a waste of time.  I thought I knew it all.  When people tried to say something about my eyeliner or my gauges I just thought of them as close-minded idiots.  They didn’t know what the Bible said.  I still think they’re close-minded to judge someone based on their appearance, but being conservative isn’t always a bad thing.  I look back at the things I thought I knew or understood in high school, and at the plans I almost made, and I thank God that I still have time now to figure out where I’m going.

21 isn’t old.  It’s young.  Forever young.

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