That’s pretty young, even for a ‘young’ writer. Sometimes I feel insecure about my youth, because I feel like people won’t take me as seriously as older writers, even those with just a few years on me. Alternatively, sometimes I’m afraid to share my age for fear it seems like bragging: “Yes, I’m 20, I’ve written 5 novels, I have an agent, and I own my own freelance writing company.”

If I ever need to ‘prove my worth’, these are the accomplishments I list off. I figure, if I can present myself as this involved with my writing career, perhaps people will look past my age and believe I actually know a thing or two about it (being 6’2 and ‘mature’-looking helps as well.)

Here’s another secret (sort of): Tomorrow I will own my first house. I will live on my own for the first time (I never got around to getting an apartment, and my family life is stable enough that I didn’t feel like I needed to move out or go crazy.) This is causing me to do a lot of reflecting.

When I was younger, growing up in the 90’s, every time I watched a television show there were always teenagers acting like ‘teenagers’: loud music their parents couldn’t understand or didn’t approve of, sneaking out, taking the family car, drugs, provocative clothing, disrespect, dumb decisions, etc. I understood and sympathized with the adult figures every time. I wanted to shake those ‘teenage’ characters: snap out of it! Can’t you see how dumb you’re being?! The last thing I wanted to be was a ‘teen’. I would be absolutely mortified if anyone ever winked at my mother and said ‘oh, she’s a teenager all right.’

I had many fears about growing up. I didn’t understand how things worked like taxes or licenses or driving cars (I didn’t know you had a free right turn on red lights until driving school… at the age of 18, lol.) and feared what I couldn’t understand. I dreaded school, but I dreaded college and work even more. I remember being very frustrated with my mother before 6th grade when I was about to start taking classes that required changing rooms and/or teachers every class. The concept was so foreign to me that I was completely confused about a class set where I had literature one hour, then social studies the next, in the same room, with the same teacher. I had no frame of reference for this, and it just didn’t make sense in my head. Being an adult would be like that, I feared.

Now that I AM an adult (though just a new one), I reflect a lot about my impressions about adulthood when I was a kid. You know, when you’re a kid your youth is marketed to you. You are told that being young is the best age; you’re attractive, strong, fast, smart, and infinitely more cool than adults. Then you grow up and your understanding of social interaction expands along with your knowledge of the world and you realize a lot of the things you cared about as kids just don’t matter anymore, or never really did (Playground gossip, or Nanobabies, anyone? Or a million other fads we all experienced and discarded?)

What I’m trying to say is, I never thought I would get to this point. I always imagined that somewhere in the future I would live alone as a writer, suave and rich and chic and devoted to my craft, but I didn’t know how I would get there. I had never met anyone with that magnetic bond of attraction and companionship I later stumbled upon in my fiancé (and now there are two in my future, not just one), so in my head it was always me, alone physically but in constant company of my characters and thoughts and inspirations.

It is strange to see part of that dream come to life, even for just a few months before I get married. 10-year-old me would be proud of 20-year-old me. I made it happen for us. I was brave enough to learn about the adult world and participate in it, to learn how to succeed, and to make our dream of publishing come true.

As I go through this time of reflection, I feel like I must be brave for both of us, for the me now and the me in the past. I trusted myself to do this. I am carrying the hopes of my 10-year-old self. I am the responsible, knowledgeable, confident adult who will take care of us.

I will own my own house tomorrow. I still can’t believe it. Pics when I can, promise.