So, today’s the day. I’m officially 21. The big one. The birthday people hype up every day until it comes like it’s some kind of magical portal to adulthood. And while yes, I can now legally sip a glass of wine at dinner or stroll into a bar without that awkward “Do you guys scan IDs?” moment, turning 21 feels like a lot more than just an age.
It kind of feels like… a checkpoint.
Not the kind where you get a prize but the kind where you pause, look around, and realize—whoa. Time is flying. Like, really flying.
Didn’t I just start college? When did I become someone who’s closer to graduation than orientation, someone who juggles jobs, classes, internships, friendships, and the occasional mental breakdown over what to eat for dinner? Time has become this weird blur of little moments I know I’ll miss one day, even if I don’t realize it right now.
And here’s the thing: 21 isn’t old. At all. But it does feel like a doorway. Not into the scary, buttoned-up world of being a “real adult” (whatever that means), but into something a little more grown-up, a little more intentional.
I’m starting to think about what I want. Not just what I’m supposed to want, or what I thought I wanted at 18, or what my 16-year-old self dreamed of. What I actually want now. What kind of person I want to be. What kind of life I want to build. Who I want to keep close. What lights me up. What I’m willing to let go of.
Maybe being 21 is less about the drinks and more about the decisions. Not in a scary “figure out your whole life right now” kind of way, but in a “you’ve grown a lot, and now you get to keep growing—with a little more freedom and a lot more perspective” kind of way.
So what’s next?
I don’t know. And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe it’s about being more present in the moments that matter. Saying yes to the trip. Saying no to the things that drain me. Hugging my friends more. Taking more photos. Writing things down. Laughing at the dumb stuff. Letting myself change. Letting myself be.
All I know is this: life is moving fast, but I’m learning to move with it. To savor it. To trust the timing, even when it doesn’t make sense. And if 21 is the beginning of a new chapter, I want to write it with intention, with joy, and with the kind of messy, beautiful honesty that comes from living fully.
Here’s to 21. Here’s to what comes next.