When I was three, I wanted to be eighteen. That might have seemed very ambitious but I remember clearly that my favorite contestant in a local pageant was eighteen and even then I knew I couldn't wait to be just like her!
But of course, I downsized and wanted to be ten when I was six. No special reason, I just couldn't wait to be ten.
And it went on. I wanted to be thirteen when I was nine, because my big sisters were all teenagers and I had been hearing those years were lit! I wanted to be fifteen when I finally turned thirteen, only because watching Wizards of Waverly Place made me want a Quinceneara. Yes, you guessed it, I wanted to be sixteen when I was fifteen because I wanted a sweet sixteen party too. I wanted to be eighteen when I turned sixteen, because eighteen was the legal age in my passport country of Ghana and who does not want to be legal? I turned eighteen and I wanted to be nineteen because nineteen is closer to twenty-one.
I turned nineteen two months ago, and man you cannot imagine how bad I want to be twenty one right now.
I have never lived in the moment, at least consciously and have never taken the time to truly enjoy being a certain age. Forgetting ages, I have never reveled in a gain, and or taken the time to bathe in the glow of my accomplishments. I recently found a prayer list from 2014 outlining all the things I wanted to accomplish in the next year. I found that i had accomplished half of those, but had never even realized it or taken the time to celebrate all those victories. It made me think a lot. I mean these were things I wanted so bad. I was doing everything in my power to get them and get to that level, but then I did and I just moved on to something else. It seems that I, in addition to every other person I know is always rushing of to be another age with a head full of all the things that supposedly come with that attainment or on to another struggle to get something after the other.
But what if I had enjoyed being three and taking those scheduled naps that I truly miss now? What if i had enjoyed having my teeth out at six and getting free ice cream because of it. What if I had admired my growth spurt at 9 and taken the time to savor being taller than all the boys in my class? What if I had enjoyed my first teenage year at 13 and reflected at how I was coming into myself? What if i had celebrated getting into the only college I applied to? What if I had taken the time to savor just being a college student with good grades and a good life? What if I had let myself celebrate and savor and revel in my victory?
Would it be so bad?
I think not. I think it would be amazing. To have had a dance party. Or ate a slice of cake. Or just sat down and wrote about how proud I as of myself.
Me, amazing, beautiful, go-getter me. I had done the thing. That thing I wanted so so bad. I HAD DONE IT.
I always do the things. I always accomplish them, and so I'm promising myself as you should, to never lose sight of the beauty in getting that thing I struggled for. To never forget to toast myself for putting in the effort and reaping an expected result. I deserve it, and you do too.
