I ran, my heart racing and my breath heavy as my bare feet smacked against the black pavement below. I nervously glanced over my shoulder and peered into the darkness that hung all around me. Two figures emerged from the bushes to my left and followed in hot pursuit. I turned my gaze forward and zeroed in on safety as I slowly lost sensation within the heels of my feet. I didn’t care, nothing else mattered but escape. My hands reached out, grasping for the rust-ridden pole that supported a well-worn basketball goal. I felt the rigid edges of the chipped paint that clothed the pole slightly dig into my palms as I swung around once in an attempt to slow my momentum.

I had done it. I was safe. Not a single person had tagged me, and I had emerged victorious from this game of Ghost in the Graveyard. I looked up and wondered how many games of HORSE this old goal had been a part of in its day.

These were the summers of my youth—summers in which the ringing of the school bell every morning was replaced with the sweet song that serenaded us from speakers perched atop ice cream trucks. Summers that were ridden with lemonade stands and farmer's tans and bare feet; sprinkled with quiet moments of relaxation beneath the shade of an oak tree and late night discussions of what it meant to be alive while sitting on the roof of an old shed, shielded beneath a blanket of stars.

I can’t help but wonder how it happened—how, slowly but surely, schoolwork snuck its way into the syllabus of summer and each year, little by little, our summer homework began increasing in magnitude. Before we knew it, it evolved into a world in which summer is no longer about Ghost in the Graveyard and eating Tweety Bird ice cream, but is instead filled with summer jobs and internships and online classes and is riddled with the question “What else are you doing this summer?”

Is this my first taste of the “real world?” Is this what it’s like to grow up? In all honesty, I never thought I would be here. I always imagined myself hitting the age of 18 and entering a catatonic state in which I stopped aging. Unfortunately, as I found out on my nineteenth birthday, in order to pull such a feat off you had to be one of two things: Peter Pan or Halle Berry (the woman doesn’t age. At all.)

As much as I would give to go back to a time in which I didn’t know that mascara existed and shoes were obsolete, that’s not how time works. Time, as we know it, is linear; always speeding forward, never moving back. Growing up was inevitable. I used to fear it. I used to fear the reality of getting a job and picking a major and paying for things on my own, but that’s not all that growing up is. Growing up is about forming new kinds of memories and deeper bonds with people you didn’t know existed before you set foot in the “real world.” It’s about finding out who you are, what you love and holding firm in a belief even if it’s not a popular one.

In reality, becoming an adult isn’t very different than being a child. They almost parallel each other in the sense that whether you’re delving into the caterpillar stages or searching within the depths of your mind to give meaning to your life, you’re still discovering bits and pieces of information you never knew existed.

So here’s to discovery- thanks for making childhood fun and may you make adulthood equally exhilarating.