Age: The Universal Plague

It's just a number, right? Why should it matter all that much?

I've been thinking quite a bit about age lately. Turning 20 seemed like such a big deal. No longer was I a "teen." I liked being 20. It seemed so much older than 19. But suddenly, age seems somewhat scary. My sister is graduating and turning 18 in the next couple months. I'm going to be spending time alone in foreign countries this summer. I'll be finishing my last two semesters in the next year, and then I'll actually be teaching in a school. Isn't that strange?

Last night, I was carded twice. TWICE! Could I really still pass for 17? I was distressed by that. I really hate feeling young, generally. I hang out and date guys that are usually 3+ years older than me, and saying I'm 20 while in the company of 27 year olds tends to make everyone a little uncomfortable.

Oddly, everyone who I talk with on a regular basis overestimates my age by at least 2 years. My coworkers, roommates and guys I date before my age comes up have assumed that I was 22, 23. I have mixed feelings about this, too. I like that I can mentally and socially pass for 22, and keep up with an older crowd. But as I slowly creep closer to being an "adult," I feel that I'm winding up towards some sort of a time-window during which I must make all progress and serious decisions.

It's a sort of sprint that I welcome, but I'd rather not be training for right now.