On Turning Nineteen

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My eyes flutter open, and my legs swing out onto the floor. The blind goes up, and WHITE. It’s all I can see. I reach for my glasses and squint. Blink several times. Pretty! It snowed last night!

The snow wasn’t a surprise — coworkers and customers were gloomily discussing it all day yesterday. I guess we all expected the weathermen to be wrong again, like they usually are. I didn’t take the prediction seriously. But there had been a strong wind all weekend through, and I should have believed that that wind could blow in just about anything.

But when I awoke, after sleep had erased expectations, I was surprised. Wow. Okay, yeah, I should have seen this coming. I should have remembered. But anyway, cool!

This is exactly how turning nineteen feels.

The eighteenth has been the best year of my life so far. I’m a little sentimental about leaving it, but I think I’ll be okay. I was suddenly seized by a desperate desire for the future, which is comforting — because I was the eighteen-year-old at CBS making fun of the nineteen- and twenty-year-olds and all their wrinkles. I was happy in my warm blanketed age, and scared of the day I would have to embrace the new one.

So being suddenly seized by a desperate desire for the future has been a balm which has soothed my fears and tremors of growing up. All I could think about today was what’s going to happen in the next two years, and it caused great excitement! My life and the events leading up to now have been amazing and incredible. How can I think the next five years will be any less?

I’ve been told life only gets better with time. Praise the good LORD, I think they’re right.

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