Sometimes I wonder how I got here…like, exactly when did the last 23 years go flying by, and why didn’t anyone tell me? Every time I experience some sort of monumental life moment (whether ginormous or barely noticeable) I wonder, “who is this grown up running my life?” And then I look in the mirror and there she is, staring at me. I think that our culture’s obsession with youth originated because no one feels grown up inside. It’s like the world is actually just a bunch of kids that only look like grown ups.
My husband and I are building a house. And we go up there to our builders and talk all about mortgages, and escrow, and countertops, and building permits, and the housing market, and insurance. And then we get in the car and look at each other and giggle because we’re both thinking, “do you think they caught onto us? Do they know they’re giving two kids the keys to a house?!” We laugh about it a lot actually. I guess I’m beginning to realize that this is it, you know? Yeah, we are in our early twenties and are newlyweds and some people would say that we really are just babies. But I mean this is adulthood. We’ll get older and life will go on, always, but this feeling of timelessness on the inside isn’t going anywhere. When I was little–actually, even still–I wanted to be grown up, beyond the phase I was in. Lots of people do that, I think. Now, I guess it feels like I’m catching up with myself. Like I’ve already caught up with myself and just didn’t know it. It seemed to me that there would be this moment where you’d stop feeling like a kid inside, and that’s what I wanted. But now I’m thinking–hey, I’m hoping!–that this feeling won’t go away. I want to be 75, giggling with my husband because nobody caught on that they let two little kids run around like grown ups for 50-some years!
And now that I’m realizing growing up isn’t a moment…I guess I made it! (Don’t tell!) 
