A Letter to Turning 20

Dear 20,

I’ve got some beef.

I've never felt so torn in my entire life. You’ve really slung me into contemplation. I feel like at this age I’m not necessarily an adult, yet I’m not exactly an adolescent anymore. Being 20, I'm no longer considered a teenager — mostly because the suffix “teen” is omitted from the word, but I’m also not exactly sure that I'm transitioning out of that phase just yet. 

I know so many people who are the same age as I am but are all at different stages of life. Girls I went to high school with have already decided to have children, guys I’ve worked with have found love with their girlfriends of three months, and friends I’ve known my entire life have moved to far away, unfamiliar places. All while I’m just sitting in my apartment, trying to figure out how to make a grilled cheese without completely charring the bread.

Maybe cooking is one of those adult-inherited traits that you earn after you turn 21. Aside from my lack of Gordon Ramsey level chef skills, I think I've become a more self-sufficient and independent person since moving to college. I’ve started going to doctor's appointments by myself — which is still very stressful — and I don’t even call my mom to help me shop for groceries anymore. 

Despite all of this, I still don’t feel like an adult yet. Even after two decades of being alive, I still don’t have every single adult privilege there is to take advantage of. I can’t rent a car until I'm 25 years old, I'll be under my parents' insurance until I'm at least 26, and I'll have a vertical driver's license — unlike all the other adults — until I turn 21. Being 20 is basically just the one year free trial to becoming an adult. 

I’m hopeful that the next 12 months will bring me valuable insight and memorable experiences that will act as my guide, or better yet, my training wheels, throughout adulthood. 

Yours truly,

Hope Gorby