Well. Today is it. I have been planning for nearly twenty-something days for this moment, but actually if I’m honest, I’m unprepared.
I’m not ready to turn nineteen.
I’m not ready to grow up.
I’m not ready to start my second semester of college, move into my own apartment, and make noodles and casseroles and brownies.
But I didn’t think I was ready last year either. There’s just something about birthday’s and me that always leave me feeling a little on the edge and underprepared. Looking back over my collective nineteen years, I’m starting to put two and two together that life likes to keep the fast pace, whether I’m ready or not.
Now, nineteen years isn’t a significantly special number to me or the universe for any reason other than I made it another year. Twenty means I’ve been revolving for two full decades, so maybe I’ll feel more impressed for that. Like I said though, this whole thing isn’t about numbers or ages or cakes or ballots, or even myself. This is about having enough faith in the next day, the next month, and the next year to look forward to your future.
The last lesson I want to share with you on my nineteenth trip around the sun is to trust the universe.
Last year at this time, I didn’t know where I would even be living. I didn’t know who would still be in my life, and who I’d meet along the road. I didn’t know if I’d get to see my family often, or what my bedroom would look like. I didn’t know if I’d be social and go our much, or want to eat healthy.
And the worst of all, last year at this time, I didn’t know if I’d still be able to write. Because I’ll let you in on a little secret fear of mine: my writing scares me. It makes me very different from the other nineteen year olds, but I’m glad that it does, and that isn’t why I’m afraid. It scares me because I’m worried there’s been some mistake… how did I end up with this ability? Why me? Some days I am sure that when the universe introduced me to this muse*, did they switch up some letters? My name can be confusing, and that must be the reason for the mistake.
But other days, I can confidently take the reins and let my fingers fly across the keyboard because the muse has something to say. This gift chose me for a special purpose, and will not remains silent when the words must be said.
So my trust in the universe (and my muse) has developed over the last nineteen years, and is still growing. I am hoping that by this time next year, at age twenty, maybe that trust will be strong and stable and sturdy.
But until then, I’ll remain in this in-between age, because I don’t have any other choice but forward. I can remember all of these lessons and memories and messages, and I will remember them. But I trust the universe to guide me towards the new ones too.