Eighteen Year Olds

Meg Crenshaw

July 10, 2012

Eighteen is a funny age. In the summer, eighteen year olds fill the spectrum. There are eighteen year olds completely dependent on their parents, and there are eighteen year olds paying rent independently. There are eighteen year olds who have a three-month interlude during the summer, and there are eighteen year olds whose summers are no different from their falls.

At eighteen, I am not paying rent, and my summers are certainly an interlude. Yet I feel I’m more of an adult this summer than I’ve ever been. Adulthood could be defined by independence, but I think of adults as people trying to answer, at each moment of the day, What is the best way I could spend my time right now?

This summer, I have been asking that question more than ever. On which projects, in which places, with which persons should I spend my time? When I use “should,” I don’t wish to give the idea that these projects, places, and persons are obligations; each are a part of my life that mean something real to me (which, to be frank, is great). Knowing that I will be leaving in August, I feel urgency with these parts of my life.

It is almost outside my grasp to realize that come September, I will have new projects, new places, and new persons. I will, once again, be asking the same question that “adults” ask, only in a new environment. If this question has become more potent after only one month with Global Citizen Year, I can’t imagine where the remaining eight will take us.

Meg Crenshaw