I’m having a strange day. I think it has to do with the fact I realized that in exactly one month, I’m going to be 22. And it freaks me out.
The truth is, there is something about that number which just screams “growing up” to me. And lately, I’m not so sure that I’m ready to grow up. Every other day I have a different opinion on the whole thing. Some days the whole idea of being an adult seems comforting and exciting. Other times it’s completely overwhelming, and the idea alone leaves me panicking, or–like today–feeling just sad about the whole idea. And I’m not sure what I can do to shake myself out of it.
I’m a kid at heart.
Not only because I can still pass for a freshman in High School somedays, or because I’m immature even more often. Maybe it’s like those people who always come across as much more mature than they actually are. I can’t even explain why I feel this urge to hold onto being a kid as long as possible. The idea of growing up terrifies me, but who isn’t afraid of that. No, it’s something deeper. I think, maybe, it’s because for a lot of my childhood I did try and act older and got into trouble because of it, or because I didn’t really have friends. It wasn’t until I was around fifteen that I started acting around, having fun, ect. And so maybe that’s why it’s scary to think that I’m growing up past all that.
And I know, 22 isn’t old. It’s just a number, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like I’m instantly going to change overnight or something.
But that age, that number. It just leaves me feeling like I should grow up, get smart, and stop kidding around. It’s a feeling that I can’t escape. All I can think about is after this, then childhood is really over, goofing off really is over. That I shouldn’t even think of wearing Hello, Kitty jewelry or pulling out my Batman coloring book.I should be thinking about my College graduation and moving out on my own, and just.. growing up. That’s what it is that freaks me out the most–this idea of growing up, of letting go of my childhood and everything that came alone with it. I feel like I didn’t get enough of a childhood to be ready to say goodbye to it already.
And that thought alone… well, it brings me right back where I started, to feeling sad and depressed about my birthday. I’m not ready to grow up, I’m not ready to let go of my moments of silliness or my coloring or anything.
Where is Peter Pan when you need him? I want to go to neverland and never, never grow up.