I place a lot of significance on beginnings. I can usually
remember what I was wearing on the first day of school, on a first date, and
even on the first day of the year. I usually remember the first time I met
someone who later became important in my life. Firsts are important.
Right now,
it’s about half an hour until, according to Great Britain, it will be March 1,
and I’ll be twenty years old. Now, I know this is technically meaningless. I
was born around 1:18 p.m. on Wednesday, March 1, 1995 in La Porte, Indiana. In
Britain, that would be 7:18 p.m. – and that’s if we accept timekeeping as it
is. The Earth doesn’t go around the sun in exactly 365 days – and if anyone is
getting screwed over by Leap Year every four years, it’s people with March 1
birthdays. So I know that in about half an hour, it won’t be exactly twenty years since I was born
into the world. Time is a meaningless construct, we’re all going to die, yada
yada yada – I know. But I’m working with what I have, so the beginning of my
third decade on this earth starts in approximately thirty-two minutes, for all
intents and purposes.
Yes, I am
beginning my third decade. That’s weird, but it’s true. We normally think of
birthdays as the commencement of the year we’re turning, but in reality, it’s
the end of that year. In half an hour, I will have completed twenty years of
life, and I’ll be starting my twenty-first. I will have two decades under my
belt, and I’ll be beginning a third.
I know how
I am with firsts, and I was kind of fighting with myself earlier tonight,
trying not to make the first moments of my birthday into a big deal, but I knew
that was a losing battle. I spent the day shopping and walking and riding
trains, and I came home exhausted, desperate for sleep, but not desperate enough
to sleep through the first hours of my new age. I’ve kept myself busy for the
past few hours, but I don’t want to distract myself into a new year either.
Nothing would make me more ashamed than admitting I entered into my twenties
while I was taking a quiz on Buzzfeed.
Buzzfeed is
what made me open the Word document in the first place to spit this out. If I’m
on Buzzfeed, that’s a bad sign. That means I’ve cycled through Facebook,
Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, and YouTube enough times that nothing new is popping
up anymore. The headline on Buzzfeed was “11 Things No One Tells You About
Depression In Your Twenties.” Yikes. That’s not the frame of mind I want to be
in as I enter my twenties.
I started
thinking about what I was doing the last time I entered a new decade. On my
tenth birthday, I got my ears pierced. I went to my favorite cheeseburger
place. I had a party with my family and friends.
What did
Deanna want to do with the decade ahead of her? Well, she wanted to have a
great time in high school and college. She wanted to write a novel, and she
wanted to be a published writer. She also probably wanted to be on American
Idol. She definitely wanted to have a short haircut when she was older, and she
wanted to work in an office and wear smart business clothes (yes, I was a weird
child). She was obsessed with Harry Potter, and she wanted to go to England.
Well, in
the past ten years, I’ve graduated high school and I’ve had a wonderful time so
far at Taylor University. I finished the first draft of a novel at age fifteen,
and I became a published writer at age seventeen. I never went on American
Idol, but I sang in four musicals in high school, helped lead worship at my
church for a year, and made multiple music videos for my YouTube channel. I cut
my hair short my senior year of high school and felt just as mature and chic as
ten-year-old Deanna had hoped. I worked in a public relations office at my
county library this summer, and yes, I finally got to wear some business
clothes.
Today, I
bought a Harry Potter t-shirt at a mall in England. Most of what ten-year-old
Deanna wanted has come true, but other things have happened that she could not
have expected. She lost loved ones, got her heart broken, let go of once
treasured friendships, and struggled with self-worth over the past ten years. I
also don’t wear earrings much anymore.
I’ve been
looking at my twenties as this big, monolithic decade of little growth, when in
reality I know I’ll be a very different person when it’s fifteen minutes until
my thirtieth birthday. Most people would refer to my past decade as my teen
years, but everyone can agree that there’s a big difference between thirteen
and nineteen, and there will be an even bigger difference between twenty-three
and twenty-nine. The dreams I have for my twenties are just dreams, and what
will actually transpire will be greater and more difficult and more wonderful
than what I can possibly imagine right now.
I wanted to
spend the last few minutes of my teenage years writing. I’ve wanted to be an author
since I was six years old, and I want creative passion to follow me into my
twenties. I wanted to share what I’m feeling with people because ten-year-old
Deanna wasn’t great at communication or socializing, but now they’re treasured
skills I’ve cultivated over the past ten years.
And I
wanted to go into my twenties with my family and with God. I’m off to read my
Bible and listen to some of my favorite Christian music until I can FaceTime
with my wonderful family, whom I love with all my heart.
Here’s to
turning twenty.
