eighteen (18) // a journal entry

Belated stream-of-consciousness birthday post! It's a mix of what I wrote in my journal, what I posted on Instagram that day, and some other thoughts to pull it all together. Italicized lines are from the song "Crossing a Bridge" from the Anastasia Broadway musical.

I've messed around with this writing style before, although I don't think I've ever published anything like it. It was very enjoyable -- that is, once I figured out where I was going with it.

January 6, 2021. Annapolis, Maryland.

With a sigh, I settle back down on the bed.

I don't know what I expected from this day. I don't know what it's expected to feel like. I've spent so long alternating between dreading and desiring it, and now that it's here, I don't know what to say, to think. The more I try to drill the reality into my head, the more surreal it becomes, getting lost in my muddled daze.

What am I supposed to say to the question I know I'll be asked: how does it feel to be an adult now?

Well, I know I don't feel different.

But it does feel strange to spend my first day as one on a trip away from my home. Tomorrow, bright and early, it'll off to the airport and onto a flight, and I'll be halfway across the country in Tennessee.

Lack of sleep and mildly anxious emotions have sucked just about every bit of motivation I had. I shouldn't stop, I have things to do. In the corner of the room is a pile of clothes to be (re)packed. In the corner of screen are tabs of assignments to finish. And then there's that pesky business called "preparing for a public speaking tournament." Not like I haven't been putting most of it some of it off until today. 

I have tasks to keep me busy. It's just... a little too much right now. 

 

Ding. My cell phone lights up with yet another notification, as it has since morning. My mom and and sister have taken it upon themselves to text me with "age reminders" at least four times -- so far. Happy birthday, they say, in every possible variation. I say thank you in every possible variation and I mean it. I really do. But not for the first time, I wonder if "happy birthday" could be a polite substitute for "I hope you're ready to be a year older." 

Well, I know I don't feel ready. I don't feel stronger or wiser or grown up. 

When did us people decide, anyway, that eighteen was the day to grow up? When did we learn to see eighteen as such an important milestone? What if it's really not? What if it turns out to be just another year?

As the seconds crawl by, I make myself stop and breathe and think.

Halfway between where I've been and where I'm going.

I'm observing a birthday on pause. I'm halfway between two ages, two stages of life, the center of a bridge. On the one hand, my "childhood" (as society calls it) and whatever's ahead.

In between wondering why and finally knowing.

I don't know what it will be like when I come home to my mom and my relatives and celebrate for real. I don't know in what ways I'll be different or how I'll have grown. Or in what ways I won't have grown. Traveling halfway across the country has got to come with some visible growth, right?

Somewhere in the back of my head I know this is a significant day, but the rest of me hasn't caught up yet. I'm in the space between two destinations.  

Vantage points like these are so strange, like observing myself from the outside. But maybe I'm lucky to have them. 

Vantage points like these make me wonder if this bridge is a metaphor for eighteen as a whole, or just my current frame of mind? I don't even know yet.

Eventually, I suppose I'll find out. It'll hit me at some point across the untouched, unexplored, twelve-month expanse stretching before and below me.

Just. 

Maybe after I catch up on some sleep.