23 Years

I've lived on this planet for 23 years and a day. More, if you count gestational time, but I won't. I've learned a ton of stuff, most of which amounts to the fact that I know basically nothing. Some of it, though, might actually be useful in the future. Might have been useful in the past, too, but here I am, mostly better for it.

When I was 5 years old, my sister, Peyton, was born. I remember, like it was yesterday, being fascinated with age, asking my parents all kinds of questions. "How old will Peyton be when I'm 6?" Still 0. "How old will I be when Peyton is 6?" 11 years old. I freaked out. ELEVEN?! I'll practically be an adult!

This cycle continued for years, until I turned 17. Then, I didn't care. I felt perfectly content as a 17-year-old, and when I turned 18, I welcomed it with open arms. It was time.

Now, 23 seems simultaneously perfect and premature. It's certainly not old, but aren't I supposed to have life figured out by now? Aren't I supposed to know what I want?

I know myself better. I'm more myself and still not quite myself yet.

I had a list of things I've learned lately that I was going to share. I decided not to use it. Seems silly, at this point, because one of the main things I've learned is that I still have so much left to learn.

But I made it this far. And I know where I'm going.

And that is enough.