Woke up, the teen years gone by. Things are about to start moving faster and faster and somehow even dizzyingly faster. The “real world” is looming heavy overhead, an empty threat come to life. Yet I’m pretty sure I’m mentally about 14 years old and I’m wondering if we ever actually feel any older or if it just shows up on our faces one day in deep lines and wisened eyes. We can remember turning ten, double digits– finally. The waiting game is over. The day to day countdowns, half-birthdays, nine and three quarter days are done. Twenty years old and just as confused as ten. It’s a big decade coming. The decade of college graduations, first real person jobs, real person crappy apartments, real person crappier cars, moves, hellos, weddings, weddings??, little feet, little things, enormous things, terrifying, terrifying, terrified. But I’ve decided we’re probably never truly, truly ready. It just happens to us and we sink or swim and call our moms in panicked desperation a lot. Because the older we get, the more we realize we do not know. The more we realize we don’t know, the more we realize that we don’t always need to. That’s the game, the never ending game, the figuring it out. Or sometimes not. It’s the simultaneous innate fear of the world and the plan to conquer it at the exact same time. Twenty.