Today I went to the farmer’s market with Francie and Emily. It was lovely. It’s spring and everyone was all sunshiney and green-like. (Yes, the people. Don’t make fun of me, I’m happy.) I bought fresh tomatoes and a cilantro plant. And we had coffee, and talked girl-talk (the version that I am capable, anyway, picking apart professors, apartment hunting, work, and only briefly touching on boys – we didn’t talk about shoes, clothes or make-up at all.) It was all so normal. Sometimes I’m startled by the ease with which I slide into a new life-stage of grown-up. One of the vendors was a woman and her daughter who used to come downtown Beloit to the farmer’s market. She was just a little girl then, nine or ten, braces and a tendency towards mischief – she once paid for her bagel and cream cheese in pennies, 160 of them. Yeah, she’s not little anymore – tall and definitely not a little kid. So strange.
I’m nearly 24. Old enough to be mid-twenties. Old enough that my milestone birthdays are over. Old enough to come home from the farmer’s market and immediately try to decide what to do for dinner. I have a life, I have an apartment, bills and responsibility.
I have no idea what I am going to do with my life next year, and I’m terrified. Welcome to adulthood.