Peppered Hearts

Today is my 20th birthday. I am no longer a teenager. I am a bona-fide adult. Jesus Christ.

Twenty is both a lot and a little. Twenty means I have to have my shit together. Twenty means that my parents no longer have a teenager in their family. Twenty means I’m almost twenty-one. Twenty means I’m in my twenties, which feels and sounds ridiculously old. I’m in my twenties. Oh my God. Ridiculous.

But twenty also means that I’m young. Twenty means I’m living in New York City, studying fashion, and have a fabulous view of the Empire State Building. Twenty means that I can look for internships, move to a different country, go dancing. Twenty means I have fantastic friends who help celebrate my birthday. Twenty means I get to have another birthday extravaganza with my friend Y. Twenty means we can go out to dinner and dance. Twenty means I’m old enough to live.

There’s a lot I’m grateful for. Too much to even begin listing. I have a wonderful family, a beautiful little niece, and marvelous friends. I live in the center of the universe, the city that never sleeps. I live in the city of cliches and exceptions to every rule. Even with the cold weather and the shortage of straight and non-asshole men (twenty feels too old to call them boys), I live a rather spectacular life in a stunning city.

I turned twenty listening to music from the 1990’s. The same songs I heard ten years ago, to be exact. The songs my brother played in the car when I got him to drive me places. The songs that we blasted on the way to Books-A-Million for his study sessions and my cup-of-hot-chocolate-and-a-book sessions. My brother stayed up late to wish me happy birthday last night. I think that’s one of my favorite things about turning old. My brother and I are nearly on the same page. We’re no longer just siblings. I’m not only his annoying little sister; I’m also his friend. That’s one of the beautiful things about becoming older.

Being a teenager was fun. I had my first heartbreaks, my first kisses, my first car. I did a lot of the traditional teenager things but there was no teenage rebellion. I was (and am) pretty much a goody-two-shoes. I spent most of my summers in Poland and got to even spend two months in Paris. I saw my cousin get married and danced at their reception. I held their baby, my wonderful little niece, the day she was born. I sang her the itsy-bitsy spider song (and often in public) just to get her to eat. I got to hear her laugh and see her smile when her daddy puts her on skype with me. Yeah, I’d say my teen years were pretty good.

But now it’s time for me to enter another decade. At the age of twenty, I’ve lived in two centuries and three decades. I was old enough to remember 9-11. I was in Times Square when the first African American President was elected. I even got to vote in that election. I saw Daniel Radcliffe naked and gave him a shirt with our numbers on it. I received my IB diploma. It was a good run.

I’m pretty sure my twenties will be even better.