The beauty of youth brings me to tears because it’s something I feel is so beautiful, it reigns almost indescribable.
As I sit here deep in thought, my baby brother plays in my lap, completely absorbed by the seemingly animate world of his colorful popsicle sticks. He’s so enthralled by something so simple that it just makes me wonder: How?
Youth is about simplicity because it is structureless. The simple things bring you joy. Playing with neighborhood friends, dismantling ant kingdoms, messing with rollie pollies in the same dirt your mom told you to stay out off. Childhood is freedom in nature.
In contrast, adulthood feels complicated and unrelenting. Emotions grow more complicated, far beyond the first five you learned: happiness, sadness, anger, jealousy, and hurt. But when do you even get time to process them when your life is governed by the hours you work and the countdown to your next bill?
Adult life is rooted in numbers — how much, how many, how long. Youth, on the other hand, is filled with numbers, colors, shapes, your best friends from down the street… your first crush.
I miss my youth and I’m only 19. Funny isn’t it? I see the structured road ahead, and it’s no easy thing to accept when you’re standing on the edge of that change.
America claims adulthood starts at the magic age of 18, but in truth, you’re just an extended play of your teen years. I’m not an adult, but I am on the cusp of it. I’m an overgrown teenager who just doesn’t want to grow up yet — particularly in the way the world wants me to.
I dream of living on a warm, sunny island, writing little stories and reading to the babies of the town. I dream of sipping on coconuts with my best girlfriends, gazing over a delicious view of the cosmic ocean. I want to spend my days swimming, laughing, and being a human. If being an adult means resigning my life to paying taxes and a 9-5, I don’t want it.