I think we can all agree upon one fundamental truth: 19 is an irrelevant age. There are no milestones. We’re already legal adults, but we still can’t drink, and we’re hanging on to our teenage years before we have to say we’re in our twenties (which means we are that much closer to being ~old~). We are no longer the reckless youth we were (or in my case, really weren’t) in high school, but we’re not autonomous grown-ups either. We live somewhere in between, which is quite a scary place: we aren’t sure who we are just yet.

When I turned nineteen, I seriously believed the stress of going to college was over. I’d had a mildly rocky first year, and I was ready to move on. I had a few good friends, a boyfriend, and a decent plan for my sophomore year: start my new job, join a sorority, choose a major, study in DC. It all sounded good. I thought nineteen would be a breeze.

Spoiler alert: nineteen was not exactly a “breeze.” My foolproof plan was derailed within two weeks of school, when my boyfriend broke up with me, I dropped out of sorority recruitment, and a hurricane forced us to evacuate. I came home ready to, well, crawl into a hole and die. Not to mention the date for major declaration was growing near and I still hadn’t picked one. 

In psychology, there’s a term called a “flashbulb memory,” which is a memory you can envision so vividly it’s almost as if it happened five minutes ago. It’s usually a memory of what you were doing during a significant or traumatic event, such as 9/11 or JFK’s assassination. Mine happened the morning after my breakup (a considerably less traumatic event), and my parents were struggling with how to approach the topic. Emotions can be tricky in my family. My mom (an ESFJ) gave me a hug and then proceeded to cry in the bathroom, but my dad (an INTP) said something I’ll never forget. “You wanted this,” he said. 

I was so taken aback. I had no response. Without hesitation, he continued, “You wanted 19 to ‘bring it.’” He was referencing what I had written in my Being 18 post. It’s true – my exact words were “Nineteen, bring it.” It’s not super helpful to hear “you wanted this” when you’re emotionally vulnerable – seriously bad timing, Dad. When I look back on it, though, it makes me laugh. Maybe he was right. Maybe, subconsciously, I did want it.

Going through tough stuff is the best way to grow up, and I’m not afraid of change in the way I used to be. While the first few weeks of school weren’t my finest hour, I bounced back, as one does, and got over it. I received an open bid from a sorority and ended up joining. I approached being single with an open mind and a positive attitude; I reclaimed my independence and appreciated my newfound freedom. My job was going smoothly, and I was accepted to the DC Semester Program for the spring. I declared a major and a minor. I “popped off,” if you will. And that’s just the first semester.

I lived, studied, and worked in Washington, DC from the middle of January to the beginning of May. I interned with the marketing department at I.M.P./9:30 Club and found my place in the entertainment industry. I met some new friends (hi Allie, Natalie, Andrew, other DC folks and 9:30 interns!) and made some valuable connections (Matt D. and Anne will always be cherished). I took a class with James Comey on ethical leadership – controversial, I know, and I’m still not sure how I feel about it.

As to avoid the overthinking that summer break (and free time in general) often brings me, I decided to occupy myself with travel, work, and class. I quit my old job, got a nose piercing (my last rebellious teen act), and switched majors [Note: I ended up switching back.]. Though changes can often be tumultuous and scary, they can also be exactly what we need, and what I needed was to regain my old confidence. 

I still might not know what the heck I’m doing when it comes to love, my social life, or my future. But at least I’m gradually getting there. Thank you, nineteen, for giving me the year you did. Thanks for wrapping up my teen-hood, thanks for forcing me to grow. And with that, there’s only one last thing to say: twenty, bring it.

Just kidding.