Grown Up at 22

It was late on Friday afternoon and I’m maneuvering my tiny blue Nissan Sentra down the 5. The sun is streaming in from my window, the rays bouncing off of the waves that are peacefully lapping on the shore just off the side of the freeway. I kick off my Steve Maddens and grip the rubber pedals with my bare toes. My iPhone is streaming music both too old but too young to be cool, since I haven’t updated my music library since college. As I continue to drive up the coast I get a wave of memories - I pass the beach we went skinny dipping at after finals my sophomore year, and the place we made Twixter Two dance with her boa during her bachelorette party.

It’s a beautiful spring day in Southern California, and as I push my sunglasses back into my hair and take a sip of lemonade it hits me - This is my twenties. I am living in a city than many people can only dream of visiting and I have the freedom to appreciate it’s finer points. In that moment, all the stress of growing up melted away and I realized that I’ve grown up. It may not be the life that my parents, my friends, my co-workers or my roommates dream of when they think of living in LA at 22. But for the past 22 years I’ve dreamed of what my life would be like when I was a “grown up” and on days like today, I feel like I’m living that dream.