It is not a big secret that we are scared of aging. The secrets of youth are advertised to us from all sides, the advice about routines that will prevent our bodies from maturing is passed from lips to lips, expensive creams are massaged into tender cheeks, and detox drinks are consumed. Pop culture tropes follow the trend of desired youth potions, which are often a catalyst of conflict, as their value is higher than any monetary equivalent that can be offered. Back pain, loose skin, grey hair and wrinkles are taboo topics, or are treated as an unpleasant complication which has to be effectively removed.  

Because let’s be fully honest: who wants to get old?  

Your body and mind get slower and tired. The energy evaporates from your cells, and the thing that comes to replace it is like poison for your soul. The pressure of growing up closes your throat and prevents you from breathing until the residues of your spontaneity are gone, and you’re just another adult.  

Adulthood isn’t advertised to us as something pleasurable. For the past decades, we have learned that it’s the teenage years that hold meaning. Katniss was 16 years old when she went into the arena; Harry was 11 when he got into Hogwarts and 17 when he defeated Voldemort; Bella was the same age as Harry when she met Edward, and Percy was about to turn 13 when he stood on Mount Olympus for the first time. These young, accomplished characters send us a hidden message that we all internalize and carry around. They tell us that we should do something with our life before it’s too late and the first number in front of our age turns to two, and we’ll have to face real life.  

I always wondered why my aunts and uncles would talk about their high school years at such lengths, why they would sigh at the end and with absent eyes tell me to ‘cherish these years, because they will be the best ones I’ll live’. I never wanted my teenage years to be the best ones. The hormonal storm, social pressure and complete and utter stupidity are supposed to be the best I’m capable of: thank you very much.  

Yet, when I write this on the eve of my 20th birthday, I keep wondering if I’m accomplished enough to be entering the third decade of my life. Have I done enough to not be a teen anymore? Am I ready to take full responsibility for my actions? To be seen as an adult and ready to enter my 20s when I have to make career choices, pay taxes, rent apartments, find a partner and be ready to withstand my parents’ questions about grandchildren?  

No, I am not. But there is nothing you can do because time flies, whether you want it or not. I am scared of what life holds in front of me, but as much as I’m frightened, I’m twice as excited. Because our life doesn’t end with blowing the 20th candle, it just gets even more interesting.