Turning 18 is exciting. You now have the right to vote, die for your country, smoke cigarettes and live on your own. Not only that, but you are granted most of the rights of a legal adult. Likewise, you are required to act like an adult in strenuous and frustrating times. Or is it terrifying? The allure of these freedoms captures the interest of many teenagers, looking at 18 as a goal, or to put it simply, “when I can do whatever I want.”
Often upon reaching 18, once these freedoms are exercised, their results are often overwhelming, revealing that the world is far bigger, scarier and tougher than ever imagined.
This sense of anxiety and melancholy always reminds me of Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone.” The protagonist, Miss Lonely, is raised privileged, and when she leaves home she finds that the world that once embraced her has turned a cold shoulder, opening her eyes to how difficult it is to survive on her own. Since I’ve known this song, I’ve always loved it, because it clearly explains how I felt when I realized that life is nowhere as easy as it seems on TV.
It also reminds me of my group of friends who moved to San Francisco straight out of high school. For them, the city was a mecca and an escape from a hometown that had nothing to offer. They worked full-time jobs but weren’t able to balance school and work. Rent became an impossibility, and luxury items like concert tickets, pot and eventually food all escaped their grasp. Most of them currently live with their parents, and advise against moving out.
Next comes ages 19 and 20, casually as a casualty. Nothing to celebrate here, just two lost years that are likely to be forgotten. These years are spent learning lessons the hard way, now accustomed to being treated as a legal adult. This involves making mistakes and gaining a greater perspective because of them. The cumulative experiences of these two years, although seemingly insignificant, heavily influence the next decade.
And finally, you’ve reached 21. It’s time to spend half a night being forced (willingly or unwillingly) to guzzle down liquor and beer, so that you can spend the next 24 hours violently vomiting. And to think, some people live to die on their 21st birthday. The irony.
The 21st birthday can be a session of shots of vodka, ta-kill-ya and every fruity cocktail your stomach can (temporarily) hold, just like most college students. Contrarily, you can quaintly sip a glass of wine and know that you’ve made it to the age where abusing alcohol has lost its defiant edge and that you don’t have to be another adolescent lush blowing half your weekly paycheck on weekend boozing.
All we can really do is take the daily grind in stride and enjoy the highs, while constructively weathering the lows.
