By Alex B. Hall
I’m at the cusp of a bright(er) future. I am approaching the pinnacle of personal enlightenment, evolution, and, some might say, experience. I am sure to face days of heartbreak, hilarity, and happiness.
I am twenty plus one and best described by the term “Young Adult,” a befitting paradox that encapsulates an inner conflict of age vs. expectation.
To many, I’ve much to be proud of; most notably, that I survived my teenage years without event. In this moment, however, I cannot be content with such conceit. I have always known that life brings much more to conquer than a single decade can divulge.
Perhaps, others know of something I don’t, something I can’t/won’t wrap my head around at age 21. “Reality,” they might call it. After a certain point, we become less and less enthusiastic about birthdays, marriages, reunions, and anything else that makes us conscious of passing time. I wonder, though, will now be the only time I am grateful for age… glad to mature?
At age 21, I’ve grown significantly as a person, but perhaps not any more than I did at age 5, 11, or 18. At age 21, things feel different, and I feel different. It is a sentiment that cannot be confined to brief description. Perhaps the shift occurred during my four months in the Caribbean, was the result of my first kiss in December, happened in the midst of my photo exhibit in February, transpired at the start of my first relationship in March, or followed my university graduation and first heartbreak in May. Maybe 21 was just a preview of the future; a bittersweet, convoluted, inspired existence.