So, it happened. I turned 20. The official stamp of two entire decades. I think back to myself a decade ago, ten years old, looking at 20-year-olds and thinking, “Wow, those grown-ups are intimidatingly cool.” My current reflection in the mirror is neither cool nor grown-up, so there must be some kind of mistake!
Instead of having my life figured out with a respectable amount of independence and a mountain of knowledge, I feel as though I’ve just barely decided my major, learned how to file my own taxes, and called my dentist without a pre-written script from my mom.
20 is bizarre. It’s an awkward limbo between two overly-celebrated birthdays, not worthy of such fuss. Nothing noteworthy in legalities have changed (I’ll have to wait another year for that) and 19 feels no different. I’m still taking the new opportunities flung at me day-by-day.
What defines adulthood anyways?
Is it the number 18? 21? Is it the moment you start college hundreds of miles away from your family? Is it the first time you sign up for a credit card? For me, no matter what grown-up-sounding act I achieve, it seems teenagedom clings to me, begging me to come back.
However, even as I look at those that are 21-years-old, they just seem to have an air of superiority and understanding that is not within my grasp. This Margaret Atwood quote below really resonates with me because it truly feels as though I am wearing a mask that convinces those around me that I’m no longer a child.
“Another belief of mine; that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.”
Margaret Atwood
Did we grow up too fast?
I keep seeing on TikTok the “20-something teenage girl,” so I can only assume that perhaps I’m not the only one with these thoughts. It’s feasible that there is a unifying feeling within our generation of our teen years being cut short. For me, COVID hit when I was 16-years-old and stripped my expectations that I had acquired from high school movies and media insisting that years 16-18 is a peak in experience and freedom. Thus, when someone identifies as a “20-something teenager,” it can be interpreted as a call to the past that was taken from us. The natural passage of time from a teen to adult was encountered by generations before, but skipped for us, so our parents and grandparents cannot blame us for these nostalgic sentiments toward our child and teenage years.
The Limbo
I am definitely guilty of treating some eras of my life as transitionary periods. For example, when I was 15-years-old, I wanted nothing more but to skim over that age to hit the jackpot of 16. Counting down the months until my sweet sixteen and pushing myself through the year without truly cherishing each day has only lead to a massive gap in my memory for that year (and 16 didn’t even turn out to be spectacular to make up for it!). I fear a similar perspective with 20.
It’s almost too easy to avoid living in the moment and instead concentrate on how I’ll thrive as a 21-year-old. I see it as a coping mechanism for those that don’t enjoy the path of their lives; the promise of a new year with a legendary age allows the imagination to run wild and conjure the ideal day-to-day that seems so intangible in the present.
However, considering 20 as a limbo year can be really damaging to your sense of reality, and what is and isn’t possible to achieve. Not every day has to be perfect (that would be impossible) but immersing yourself into a dinner with loved ones, a party with friends, or just a picnic with your partner is enough to add value to your definition of your age.
The scary part of turning 20 is not knowing what’s next to come. Will there be change? What obstacles will I face? Will I ultimately end up an improved person? But that’s the exciting part too. What will I achieve this year? What new friends will I meet? What new memories will I make?