I’ve had hundreds of people look me in the eyes throughout my life, but I never feel more seen than by a Taylor Swift lyric. In “Nothing New” — from Red, Taylor’s Version — she asked, “how can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?” Miss Taylor knew I’d have to find an answer. Creeping up to the eve of my 22nd birthday, I feel that the more I learn, the less I know. I do know that with age and wisdom comes pain and confusion. At 18, pre-college, I would pray against the heartbreak, worry, and uncertainty that I deal with so casually at almost 22. 22 feels like everything I knew at 18 has been completely torn apart; that “nothingness” that Taylor wrote about comes from not knowing how to mend all of the pieces back together.
18 is full of dreams, goals, plans, and starstruck ambition. I turned 18 with my best guy-friend on my porch at midnight with sunrise yellow and pink roses. At 18, I applied to 12 universities — all out of state — hoping I’d go out and find some kind of adventure, and I ultimately left for New York City thinking I could help the world by working at the United Nations, whatever that meant. I was 18 and had so many friends, one for every occasion, and they were beautiful. 18-year-old me had her grandpa living three blocks away from her to hug and find comfort. Everything was exactly as I wanted it, exactly as I had planned it — try and tell me, at 18, anything, and I’d say I already knew everything.
Two months before I had to separate from all the diamonds of being 18, life showed me how cruel it could be. 19 was full of falling apart and partying through the pain. I kissed 19 “hello,” 3,000 miles away from the person I loved most — I woke up to chocolate-covered strawberries and a note from my family that said, “We love you, so so so…”, after reading his “I wish I could be there” good morning text. 19, for me, was so lonely. The skies during Fall 2019 in New York City were always so grey and gloomy; I swear it rained so much just out of my pity. The city’s cold kept me inside during early winter parties — my coldness kept me inside during my early morning responsibilities. You see, when a woman is 19, she is praying for her girlhood and sparkle not to die so quickly…but when my grandpa died before I could even leave home — my sparkle turned silver. My lack of healing turned into negligent breathing. 19 was about the process of loss; of my sweet grandfather, my cherished friendships, myself, my dreams, plans, and ambitions. Everything I thought I knew was just completely shattered.
20 felt young, fun, and sexy but that’s not how I exactly remember living it. The pandemic was a blessing in the largest way for me. For one small moment, I felt like I was able to breathe and I did so back home. Everything I wanted at 18 was history, except the purest of things. At 20, I realized that the light of my life was the man who picked the brightest-colored flowers for me. In the same city, with the same 20-year-old confusion and woes, we found brightness, softness, and balance; 20 feels hopeful and exciting, and it is oh-so thrilling. The deeper I fell in love with him, the greater I understood the depth of my heart, and I decided to pour some of that love into myself. Once a woman looks within herself and dedicates her soul to discovering itself and its purpose, she becomes so unstoppable. Staying in limbo between both mourning and celebrating her past life…her several past lives. 20 is growth — it is green, friendly, kind, and accepting. 20 for me was a rebirth.
21 is stressful. There’s money to be made, grades to maintain, entrance exams to prepare for, and applications are due evermore. Throughout 21, though I have found my purpose in public sector law, I can’t help but feel helpless and absolutely fucking useless. I have it all — even at 18, I would be very satisfied with where I ended up three years later. But, c’mon, how am I supposed to feel when my $70,000 degree had taught me simply that property and money are the things we as a people must worship to be successful? Political science and reality tell me that revolutionaries are always killed, and power will prevail, even though the land is so sick of being stolen and exploited. In my legal work, I’ve heard cries of confusion, hopeful gratitude, and so much pain and anxiety the devil would be uncomfortable. At 21, it became violently obvious to me that pain must endure in order to ensure someone else’s riches. Now, look at all this knowledge I’ve built; someday I’ll write a few novels, maybe, but I don’t know. Perhaps someday, my once starved body will be able to stomach this injustice and the blatant incapacity for change under a system functioning exactly how it was intended to, but again, I don’t know.
Exactly two days before I turn 22, there is a lot that I do not know. I do not know if I am studying enough for the LSAT. I do not know if the law school admissions office will find me impressive or worth it. I do not know if I’ll be able to even find the academic strength to show up to my classes for the rest of the semester. If I’ll be fulfilled in my career — because as many people as I’ll be able to help, there will still be so many more in need of it — I don’t know. I wonder if I will make more close girlfriends and if I have a long enough time left with everyone I love so much. I ask the sky, and I ask my God…and I don’t know. I really don’t even know how to celebrate my 22nd birthday on a Saturday.
Here tonight, I’m telling you that I feel nothing but absolutely blessed for knowing nothing. I do know for sure that I am so in love and secure. I know the few girls who support me do so with their whole beings because they are so beautifully amazing; I can’t help but support them too. I know with all my heart that I cherish every moment with my family — their smiles, laughs, and presence. I know mis angeles and my ancestors are protecting me with the strength and dignity of the land that I stand on, that I love, and fight for that was stolen from right underneath their feet.
The novelty that comes from being young with fresh ideas and a pretty face isn’t lost in age — it simply matures to become legendary poetry of a soul well-lived. My tears throughout the last four years have grown to glisten with character, and the diamonds within my eyes are bigger than they’ve ever been. Here is my life at 21 years and 363 days: my uncertainty became comfortable, my fear became optional, and my faith became reliable. Knowing nothing feels freeing, fabulous, and blissfully wonderful.