Sixteen Going on Thirty-Five

I keep feeling like I’m sixteen years old.

My sixteenth year was a good one—or at least, that’s how I remember it. We remember things as we need to, not always as they were. I thought the feeling of adolescence would eventually fade. Surely, once I got married, I’d feel grown up. No. Started earning a salary? Nope. When I have kids, maybe? Turns out, still no. I’m in my 35th year now, but I feel sixteen. Does anyone know the secret?

I know it’s said that we’re all just making it up as we go, but I didn’t believe it. Or maybe I didn’t want to. Now I do. Now, I can confidently commit to the notion that every adult is just winging it. There are no rules, just hunches. We’re all doing the best we can.

This was supposed to be the year I started a new way of life: reading for reading’s sake, intentional spiritual and physical growth, consistency. We’re off to a rough start. But here’s to turning things around at the start of the second quarter! Here’s to not giving up on yourself. The only way to lose is to give up. The joy of a make-it-up-as-you-go life is that we get to make the rules. We decide what winning means. And if I’m showing up, I’m winning.

It’s easy to compare life milestones to others—and maybe that’s why I feel so adolescent. How silly. Louis, don’t you know we’re all running different races? We’ve each got our own advantages and setbacks. There is no comparing—only admiring. The secret of the race is known only to the one who runs it. So admire the racers, then get back to your own lane. I’m grateful for sunsets and sunrises—a daily reminder that new beginnings are real. I (we) can start again. Winning.

Lately, I’ve been gathering my thoughts on what to say about community. (Yes, a preview of a future post. Surprise!) For now, I’ll just say this: Ashley and I believe that the way we’re intentional with people says everything about who we are. True community values intentional relationships. Sixteen-year-old Louis wasn’t invited out much—he always did the inviting. And at thirty-four, not much has changed. Why wait for the party elsewhere when you can be the party? AmIrite? It’s tiring, though. Sometimes, the ones who do the inviting need an invitation, too.

I don’t want to feel sixteen anymore. Maybe it’s a confidence thing. Maybe it’s a decision. A decision to no longer feel inadequate, or unintelligent, or inexperienced, or naive. A decision to stop waiting to arrive at adulthood and just be here.

Perhaps the decision to keep showing up is the very remedy for feeling like an adult.

-L