A few weeks ago, I turned the big two-oh. I think that in an unfortunate oversight, we as a society often fail to appreciate the significance of this developmental milestone. Twenty is a monumental age, and turning twenty is a momentous occasion. At least that’s what I told my sister when she said she wasn’t getting me a birthday present. Sure, twenty doesn’t have the political and autonomous significance of eighteen, or the festivity and pizzazz of twenty-one. Though my twentieth birthday did have pizza, which is only two z’s short of pizzazz, so I’m counting that as a victory.
And so, as I embark on the journey that is this next year of my life, I’d like to take a moment to reflect on the two decades that I’ve been alive on this earth. On the successes, failures, and dreams achieved and quit prematurely because the ballet instructor wouldn’t let me hang on the plie bar.
In these twenty years I’ve been alive, starting at the very beginning, I was potty trained. I learned how to use a toilet. The transition from diaper to porcelain throne is a long and hard one, and I feel proud to have achieved something so difficult so young.
I learned how to read and write, starting with my own name (this was trickier than it should have been for me—I used to think that the number of horizontal lines comprising the letter “E” was arbitrary, and would usually settle for four).
I developed an irrational fear of hot air balloons after someone left the TV on and I happened to watch an entire news special on combusting hot air balloon accidents.
I overcame my irrational fear of hot air balloons.
I became a big sister! I only asked if we could take her back once.
A painting I did in preschool of a cat was featured in the local newspaper. So basically I can check “get famous” off the bucket list. Yes, I certainly will autograph newspaper clippings of my famed cat painting.
I went on a chaperoned date with a boy named Peter when we were both four. To this day it is the best and only date I’ve ever been on.
I’m just going to skip over late elementary and middle school, not because these years weren’t significant ones, but because it’s hard to make my awkwardness, bullies, and my parents’ divorce funny.
In high school I embarrassed myself a ton (mostly slipping and falling on ice in front of the whole school and saying “Who’s single and ready to mingle?” while simultaneously bumping into a stranger who thought I was talking to him).
I also exploded a lot of things in chemistry class junior year because of an aversion to reading ahead in the lab instructions.
Then I got to college! I was welcomed into an amazing community of smart and funny women who let me string words together and then published them on their humor site. I made friends, declared a major, even travelled.
With a life so full of successes, can things even get any better?! I’ll sure try! Here are some goals for the next ten or twenty years of my life, in no particular order:
- Graduate with a 4.0. It may be “mathematically impossible” or whatever at this point, but a girl can try.
- Make six figures right out of college. This one’s gonna be a real challenge because I’m majoring in creative writing.
- Do some good for the world. The world has done such good for me, I think it’s only fair.
- Meet my future husband.
- Meet Beyoncé.
- Marry Beyoncé; it’s the most efficient way to check off both 4 and 5 simultaneously.
- Have some kids. Not too many. Probably two. That way even if one of them decides to major in creative writing, there’s still a chance the other one picks something respectable and will be able to support me in my old age.
All in all, I’d say it’s been a pretty great twenty years. I can only hope that the next bunch of ‘em are filled with just as much pizzazz—and pizza.
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