seventeen.

In exactly one month, I will turn eighteen. I will become a legal adult. I will be able to vote, even (legally) get married.

 

Scary.

 

When I was little, I always imagined that as a young adult woman I would walk the halls in college wearing classy clothing and being clever, friendly, and indestructible. I would know exactly who I was and who I wanted to become. The future would be full of promise, right at my fingertips.

 

I carried this incredibly naive image with me for years. At fourteen, fifteen, and even sixteen, I had this image that when I was eighteen, I would transform into someone who had it all together, who knew who she was and who she wanted to become.

 

To tell the truth, this is what I’ve really become:

 

More honest.


More vulnerable.


More aware.


More raw.


More wise.


More opinionated.


More forgiving.


Less afraid.


Less insecure.


Less judgemental.


Less hidden.

 

 

More myself, and less an image I wanted to be. More determined to follow God, and less swayed by the crowd. Far from perfect, but no longer self-condemning. More content to live in the present, instead of wishing for the future.

 

Less planning, more peace.


If I went back and talked with fourteen-year-old me and told her where she would be, it wouldn’t be where she expected.

 

But I don’t think she would be disappointed.

 

 

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