Even when I was younger, summer has always been a time of sweet renewal.
My hair grows blonder, my skin tanner, and my overall disposition a dozen notches lighter. Now, summer is an outlet for me to finally heal from ten months of being pushed, prodded, and stretched thin by the tedious rhythm of school.
I despise that people say that once you turn eighteen your childhood is over. In truth, I’m the only one who can truly control that, considering I am the only one who has lived that part of my life.
It is one of the things in my life that has been a changing constant, something that I endlessly look forward to as the three months of mid-winter shrink and swell with the weight of crusted snowbanks and wavering motivation. The contrast between ugly Michigan and the bright, luminous glow that sunbathes the state in the summer will forever be reliable, regardless of where I am or how old I become.
I’ve lived in the same house for the past decade. That hasn’t changed.
Nor have a few of my friendships—some have wavered, some have shattered, but there are a few that have withstood the test of time.
My creativity, however, has morphed into different forms throughout the years, starting with dress-up days with old clothes and tutus from the bin in the basement and slowly evolving into something more refined: writing and reading.
I know that future decades won’t see nearly as much change and acceleration as this past one: I cycled through an entire elementary, middle, and high school education, went from waiting for my teacher’s letter in the mail for the next year to searching for potential colleges I wanted to attend, and instead of adorning myself in plastic crowns and Minnie Mouse hats, I now spend hours putting glitter on my face for Homecoming.
I despise that people say that once you turn eighteen your childhood is over. In truth, I’m the only one who can truly control that, considering I am the only one who has lived that part of my life.
Instead of cutting myself off from the past decade of indescribable laughter and everlasting memories and launching into an epoch of adulting, I’m saying that everything is stamped from my childhood but transferred in a different font. It’s the same but mingled with little bits of maturity and awareness that I’m forced to include now that I am eighteen.
The next decade will be brimming with life, soul, and change, but nothing will even match the rapid sprint I endured from a little child to a girl who is facing the greatest challenge decade number two has to offer: moving seven hundred miles from home, saying goodbye to my lifelong friends, and planting myself in a new environment in hopes that it doesn’t make me shrivel up and perish.
