November 5, 1995: I was born.
Twenty years later, I lay in bed thinking about what turning twenty means.
I’ve spent the past couple of weeks saying different ways to hide the fact that I was entering a whole new decade of my life, like: “It’s my 19+1st birthday!” and “In my book, I’m 19 till I’m 21,” and (my friend introduced this one to me) “my anniversary of my 19th birthday.” So, yeah, I was in denial. Because entering into your twenties is a scary thing: college graduation, jobs, living on your own (for real) for the first time, so many real adult things, and just...lots of other really daunting changes that are not all required but still imply pressure. And I know I’m not the only one who fears what the next decade will bring. One of my best friends (who turned 20 last month) sent me a heartwarming birthday message at the stroke of midnight, marking the start of my 20th:
(Thanks, Amanda.)
However, I found a bunch of other ways to ease my way into being 20. For instance, I made sure to surround myself with a support system.
Between relishing the birthday phone calls and messages, I also made sure I spent face-time with people who I care about and also care about me. Even though I couldn’t be with my family in person on the special day, I have my own support systems here at school. I occupied a couple of hours with my writing professor/advisor/mentor discussing the memoir I’m currently writing--that accomplished a couple of things: a) talking and working on something I enjoy with someone I look up to, and b) being given a couple of yummy Lindt dark chocolate truffles. My friends also made the plan to go out to my favorite Ithaca restaurant (Ithaca Ale House!) to celebrate with good food and a sparkler in a brownie. And I must admit, the inundation of Facebook birthday wish posts and photos and text messages were immensely comforting--everyone convinced me that turning 20 is something to celebrate, not something to dread. Having people instill that belief in me throughout the day was enough to accept the fact that I’m twenty now, no matter how grown-up and scary that may sound.
Birthdays should be enjoyable and celebratory and I think I have finally learned that (and this is speaking as someone who, on her 19th, took a four-hour stress-nap after realizing she was about to have her last teen year). Turning 20 means both the end of the teenage era and the start of grown-up life; even so, I keep reminding myself that despite twenty meaning a lot of big things, for me, turning twenty means I’ll have another decade of life experiences to write about, more pages to write in. Maybe I’m okay with it if I think about it like that. Because as I grow, so do my words. Growing “older” doesn’t have to be a part of this. I’m just growing.
And even though turning 20 is still a big deal, and even though I still ordered F*ck! I'm in My Twenties by Emma Koenig on Amazon.com at the end of the day, I feel ready. Sometimes, you just have to focus on these two questions that the great Abbi and Ilana of Broad City ask each other on their characters’ birthdays:
“What have you done this past year that you're proud of? And what are you gonna do this upcoming year?” (Season 2, Episode 10)
As I write this essay/article/meditation/rant, I’m listening to “The Great Unknown” by Jukebox the Ghost on repeat, not only because it’s a great song by a great band, but because I feel like the title alone pretty much sums up what entering your twenties means to most people. But it got easier to come to terms with the big 2-0 once I accepted the fact that 20 is a number, and even though that number implies a lot, it’s still just a number. What I do during my life isn’t restricted to specific decades.
I’m not going to be a changed person just because my age changes.
