On Turning Twenty

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.