About a month ago, I turned 20. This wasn’t sudden—I knew it was coming. It didn’t sneak up from behind or jump out from under my bed. In the back of my mind, there had been a slow countdown to the date that had been in my calendar since Jan. 11, 2005. Still, I wasn’t ready for how weird it would feel to no longer be a teenager.
Being 20 feels so contradictory. I’m met with the expectations of adulthood but not all the opportunities. I can legally drive, vote, and buy a firearm, but I can’t order a drink at the bar? I’m supposed to be looking for a job, but I can’t be trusted to leave the room to use the bathroom during my philosophy class? I am expected to cook a dish on Thanksgiving, but I’m still banished to the kids’ table?
In every area of my life, I feel like I am teetering between adulthood and adolescence. Everybody has different expectations of 20-year-olds. Some adults expect you to have the knowledge of a professor, while others talk to you like it’s your first day on Earth. Just when I start to get comfortable acting as an adult, something knocks me back into my younger years—only for someone to tell me to grow up.
I feel like I spent my teenage years trying to be seen as an adult. I was a precocious tween, always reading above my level and feeling like I was too good for Musical.ly lip-syncs. I desperately wanted to be the most mature person in the room. Now that I’ve finally caught up with the standards I set for myself at 14, I regret not taking advantage of the behavioral write-offs teenagers get. I wish I’d posted more carelessly on Instagram. Been angstier. Used more Snapchat filters. Ordered Frappuccinos instead of black coffees. Broken more rules. Now, when I do something illegal (jaywalking, mostly), I would go to real jail, not juvey.
Even though I pretended as though I was above it, I resonated so heavily with being a teenage girl. Things like gossiping, fangirling over musicians, and talking for hours on the phone drove me. I loved binging a CW show and spending hours with my best friends talking about absolutely nothing. Sleepovers, crushes, and makeovers. I’ll still do these things, of course, but it won’t be the same.
Now, I have to figure out how to be an adult. Do I have to delete Snapchat? Throw out my UGGs? Break up with my pediatrician? The thought of leaving Dr. Cohen is painful, and I don’t see myself deleting any social media anytime soon.
I have to admit, I’m a bit of a hypocrite. I get frustrated at the contradicting expectations of 20-year-olds, yet I have my own contradictions in how I want to be treated. Mom and Dad—please stop telling me what to do, I’m an adult. But can you please let me stay on the family phone plan? And would you mind proofreading this email? I tell my business law professor to trust that I can handle this paper, then return later to ask for an extension. I got tickets to a Gracie Abrams concert and it’s like I would die if I couldn’t go.
This is going to be a year of contradictions. It might even be a decade of them. I feel like I will constantly be teetering between teenagehood and my grown-up twenties. I’ll still gossip with friends—I’ve heard work drama can be very interesting. I’ll still scroll through social media—LinkedIn, though, not VSCO.
Everyone knows the classic birthday question: “Do you feel different?” The answer is usually no—because it’s just another day. But this year feels different. I don’t physically feel like a new person, but I can sense a shift. There’s a new standard of behavior, and I’m ready for it. In fact, I’ve been preparing for the last 20 years.
If I ever feel lost, I know I still have my teenage self with me, just in case I need to see what she has to say. I’ll take her to Starbucks to talk about it. And this time, we’ll order frappuccinos.
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