17.
I am 17.
I am seventeen years old.
I am seventeen years of age.
As many times and ways that I say this, it still does not hold the ring of truth in my ears.
Nothing exciting happens at seventeen—it’s just the year between being able to drive and being able to vote.
Yet, it’s my senior year, which comes with expectancy, joy, and sorrows.
I expect so much from this so-called magical year: front row at the football games, gathering around the campfire, feeling the camaraderie at the senior retreat, and finally graduating with the feeling of freedom.
I have felt the effect of upcoming freedom before, but it has never had this tinge of fear. Graduating and starting this new chapter of life is completely new, and that terrifies me.
When I turned 16 and started to drive, it was a newfound freedom, but it stayed in the realm of the known.
I will soon fade into the unknown and everything I am comfortable with will fade to a memory.
There are so many paths I could take. So many places I could find comfort in. So many places I could turn 19, 20, 30, and even 60 in. Those places can be so vastly different from the places where I turned seven, 14, and 17.
I don’t remember who I was, I’m still figuring out who I am now, and can only imagine who I will one day be. My past, present, and future all accumulate into this year.
I have to dig up my past for college essays. I have to find myself so I can pick the perfect college and major. I have to be able to see a future wherever I end up next year and wherever I go afterward.
My past, present, and future are colliding. They are all I can think about lately. Maybe that’s why I can’t believe I am seventeen because my thoughts are within another time.
17.
I am 17.
I am seventeen years old.
I am seventeen years of age.
And I can’t fathom it.
I don’t feel it.
I am consumed by all the other ages I was and could be.
I am consumed by my past and my future.
I wish I was equally consumed by my present. This is the year to be present, but the hardest to stay present in.
