I think I might just be having half of a quarter life crisis.
So, you know, John Green and his “unrealistic, way too mature teenage” characters (yes, the presence of the double quotes indicate Chandler levels of sarcasm) and their incredibly mature discussions about life and shit? Yeah, teenagers actually talk about that stuff at 2 AM when we feel pretty messed up about our lives. That is precisely how I was somehow able to verbalize my Half Quarter Life crisis. Hear me out.
Firstly, where did 2017 go? I swear, it was only 2.5 weeks ago that 2017 started and people were ranting on Twitter about how glad they were that 2016 has ended. How did it go by so quickly? It cannot possibly be 2018 yet. I’m not emotionally prepared for this. When did this even happen?
Not that I’m counting, but, in approximate 47 days, I’m going to be Seventeen. SEVENTEEN, people. 17. Look at that number. Analyse the feeling that accompanies it: seventeen, SEVENTEEN, seventeeeeen. Okay, I’m gonna stop.
My point is, I’m not DONE being 16 yet. 16 is a milestone, people. You only get to be 16 once in your life (yeah, no shit) and 16 is that magical year you tell stories about when you’re 32 or something. It stresses me out thinking that several years into the future, I’d be reminiscing about being Sixteen and remembering how trivial things mattered so much to me- speaking of which, as a teenager, I shouldn’t even be thinking about that right now. Am I genetically coded wrong? Am I an emotional mutation?
Anyway, I can only be Sixteen once and it’s just…. almost gone? When did that happen? I wish I could bottle up my jumbled feelings and verbalize them somehow because, well, how do you explain this? What if I don’t have any stories to tell of when I was Sixteen? What if my life isn’t a John Green book or an Ed Sheeran song? What if everything’s just average (ugh, I hate that word).
I’m afraid that I won’t have anything to say. Do you know how scary that is? I envy people who don’t constantly worry about their lives not being stories they can be proud of. One of the things my friend and I discussed were boundaries. We don’t like boundaries but we stick to them because they are safe. But safe can be addictive and if you’re addictive to safe, then time just whooshes by without you knowing when the diddly heck did it happen.
You know how children say they can’t wait to get out of school to finally live their lives or they can’t wait to grow up and it’s only when they finally do grow up that they realize how goddamn amazing it was to be in those forever teenage years? Well, I do! I know exactly how much I’m going to miss this time and, even though it’s not over yet, it’s slipping through my fingers and I can keep telling myself that I’m getting the most out of them but am I?
I know what you’re saying–
Also, Seventeen is just one year away from Eighteen. Eighteen, the legal, official age of being an adult. I mean, excuse me, have you met me? I’m literally just sprawled across my bed in an oversized hoodie I stole from my brother and bright red PJs at 2 AM writing about not wanting to grow up while trying to control my bladder because hello it’s 2 AM and I’m scared to go to the washroom. You can’t expect me to adult.
I honestly don’t want to grow up.
I hope that I goddamn will, John.