The following is an excerpt from my diary, written on October 9, 2023:
“I turn 19 tomorrow. FINALLY.Â
I hate having a late birthday because I’m so much younger than everyone around me. EONS. I feel like I’ve been missing out on some secret knowledge that only comes with being in your last teenage year. When I finally get access to that knowledge, everyone will be moving onto their 20s and I’ll be stuck as a teenager and it just really sucks because I’m forced to be one step behind.
Being a teenager is so stupid. 18 is technically an adult… but I feel like I’m stuck in some sort of two-year adulthood trial period, testing the waters of 20 before fully diving in. @ the universe, Iet me grow up!! I’ll happily skip 19. I wish I was 20 already.”
A lot of teenagehood seemed stupid to me. During high school, I was always told I seemed mature for my age, like I had some deeper understanding of life that most people my age didn’t quite get. I would scoff at the actions of my peers and question how people could make such uninformed decisions and live life so recklessly. I yearned for a day when I could be surrounded by more sophisticated individuals, the 20-something-year-old college students who sip wine in restaurants instead of mysterious jungle juice in a backyard.
But, when I turned 19, by some weird force of nature, I finally began experiencing the woes and mishaps of being a teenager. 19 was the year I truly became a teenage girl.
It’s difficult to describe what it’s like being a teenager. But all of us have lived/are living through it, extreme hormones and self awareness clash with peace of mind and delusion to create the weird, messy, and beautiful phenomenon that is adolescence.
I hated how messy my teenage life was. No matter how hard I tried to stop it, 19 became a tumultuous age. I made new friends, had new experiences, made disastrous mistakes. I had life-changing discoveries — people I thought would be in my life forever became names I cursed in conversations. Sometimes, I was way too honest, other times I ran away from the truth. I was kind and loving, I was bitter and cold. I’ll admit: there were periods when I was just straight-up awful.Â
I tried to take extra precaution with living to prevent the symptoms of teenagehood. For a period of time, I declined invitations and kept to myself. I was guarded, self-protective, and miserable. It seemed like no matter what, something always went wrong. Everything about me was uncontrollable, from my life, my brain, to even my hair. Through mood swings, breakdowns, and laughter, it was clear that being a messy teenager is practically inescapable.
And something strange happened — over time, I fell in love with being 19. There was something so freeing about being a teenager, something so incredible about finally acting my age that I couldn’t help but find joy in it.Â
We live in a world that values the process of growth. Coming-of-age movies end with the main character reaching some level of emotional maturity, having some profound realization about life after spending the entire film stumbling through their youth. We are always working towards the next step, eager to continue on the journey of life, desperate for the stability that adulthood seems to offer.Â
But a digit change is not accompanied by some insane psychological shift. There are no secrets derived from 19 becoming 20, no true transformation occurs when you exit your teenage years. In fact, from what I’ve heard, 20s are just extended teenage life. Still crazy, immature, and messy (except this time, you can legally drink).
As my time with 19 comes to an end, not much has changed. I still want to run down the streets of my college town, blasting “Supercut” by Lorde and screaming the lyrics at anyone walking by. I want to fall in love with a stranger, get 13 tattoos on my arms, tell my mom “you just don’t understand!” while on the phone with her.Â
Other times, all I want to do is lie awake in bed, stare at the ceiling, and question if I’m on the right path. My journal entries, once attempting to be deep and insightful, now consist of “what am I even doing,” “I wish I was normal,” and, worst of all, pages of “why doesn’t he like me anymore?” Girl. Stand up!
It’s laughable that I used to yearn for the supposed privileges of a new decade, because I now dread the day when my teenage-ness leaves me. The juxtaposition of 19 is exhausting, exhilarating, amazing, and ugly all at once. That’s what makes it so incredible.Â
To summarize, I would like to quote my favorite Olivia Rodrigo lyric: “I know my age, and I act like it.”
And in my last month of 19, you best believe I’m going to act like it.