I turned 20 years old on October 13. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but that’s kind of a long time. For humans, that’s still really young, but for the rest of the animal population, I’m basically, like, one-thousand. One-hundred-forty years old in dog years, actually. In rabbit years (yes, that’s a thing), I am four-hundred-and-twenty years old. Quite the accomplishment, two whole decades of existence seems to be.
And for the first time ever, I felt different. You know when someone asks, “does [insert new age here] feel different than [insert yesterday’s age here]?” and the answer is usually “no”? Well, this is the first year I’ve been able to answer “yes.” Yes, it actually did feel different. Yes, twenty is different. And here’s a few reasons why.
On my birthday, I felt incredibly loved. Not to say that I haven’t always felt incredibly loved on my birthday, because I have, but I felt wrapped in love this time.
And I don’t think it’s because I’m more loved this year than I have been before, but rather because I see love differently. I’ve grown a lot this past 365 days, and I understand what love looks like a bit more. It’s not about how many messages you get, or the gifts, or what people do for you, although all of that makes me really, really happy.
I’m loved because I am. I exist, and so I am loved. I believe this because I believe in a God who loves from the very essence of His being, because I know that I am loved without having to do anything to earn it. I think that’s something that a lot of Christians understand in their heads, but don’t always necessarily feel in their hearts, and I’m really blessed to the maximum extent of the word that I’ve grown to know this truth more within the past year.
I’ve learned that people love, and they love well, but that I cannot define my place in the world by how other people prioritize me. I know I’m special, but not because of how I fit in other people’s lives. I’m special because I am. And my birthday was simply a celebration of that specialness, a specialness synonymous with existence.
Additionally, twenty is just a crazy number. And we’ve talked for ages, my friends and I, about when our lives will start, but that’s now. Life is now, life has begun. I’m on my way to the future, but I’ve always been on my way. “Twenty” just made it a lot more real. There’s not a backboard to fall on anymore— I’m not a teenager, and creating my life the way it is to be is all that lies ahead. It just feels like this is it. And not in a bad way, either. I’m going to make life fun. I’m never going to lose my childlikeness. If I do, someone please call me out.
But this is real. My life— it’s mine? No more relying on other people to rule it for me. No more attempts to try to please everyone, because I’ve learned that’s impossible, and what’s the point of doing things that aren’t meant for me? We each have a potential, a person we are created to be, a true, authentic self, and that’s not worth sacrificing to make other people happy. If they love you, they’ll be happy for your loyalty to selfhood.
I’m twenty! I’m me! It took two decades to realize, but I don’t need to be anyone else. And I think that’s something I’ll probably have to re-realize over and over again, but it’s a truth I’m willing to chase.
Have you gotten there yet?
