The childhood experience is split by experts into stages. We were first infants, spent some time as toddlers and youth, became adolescents, and then turned into angsty teens. High school graduation launched us into the world of the young adult, a weird and formative time of in-betweens. We’re sort of independent, responsible, and capable, but also entirely not. We are inexperienced but eager, resourceful but not yet wise. This middle ground of child and adult is exciting but also confusing. We are told these are the years we will find ourselves, that we will travel and learn and grow and become the person we want to be.

When I was really little, car lights fascinated me. On the highway I’d look ahead to our lane at the backs of cars and see a line of tiny red lights racing through the dark. The oncoming lane sped past, blindingly white. I was too small to understand the difference between brake lights and headlights, to know that if I turned around to look behind, I’d see we were suddenly in the white lane and the others in the red. I was instead amazed that all of us were going along together, each on the right path, convinced that red cars called each other and agreed where to go and that white cars did the same. They knew their direction and always got where they needed to be, without a problem.

This innocent and naïve notion applied to what I thought of adults, too. They had it all together, all of the time, and were in control of everything. As I grew and got closer and closer to being one myself, I set idealistic but reachable expectations for my life, and thought that everything would click into place. Those all crumbled last fall, during my first semester, when I couldn’t see myself happy doing what I had planned throughout high school. Afraid of what others would think and out of touch with what I was actually passionate about, I felt directionless and overwhelmed. I know now that most of my age group feels the same way, like little girls trying to run in our moms’ high heels. We feel alternatively invincible and terrified of falling, and constantly that we have to keep up our image of stability.

In choosing to move away from what I thought was expected of me, I feel like I am finally starting to become myself, like we’re told we will. I came to realize last semester that life should be a constant pursuit of trying to be more- more convicted, loving, accepting, and informed. I learned that it’s perfectly normal to not have all the answers and that nobody actually does (we all just pretend to) and that enjoying yourself is important. I’m not sure what my next move will be, but it doesn’t really matter. The mystery and intrigue and beauty in life come from the unknowns. One thing I do know is that there’s already a plan for me, designed by the One who knows me best. In choosing to live a life of blind obedience to God’s will, I know I’ll end up where I need to be to feel fulfilled and loved.