A few months ago, back in the summer, I had a mid-life crisis. I was at a relative’s house for a barbecue and my aunt asked me how old I was turning this year.

“I’m turning nine- oh.” My eyes widened with the sudden realization that I wasn’t turning 19. I was turning 20. I had a dumbfounded look on my face, so my aunt starting laughing and left me to deal with my internal crisis on my own.

I wasn’t going to be a teenager anymore. I was going to be an adult. I was going to be old. Panic started to set in as I started reaching out to different people, explaining what happened and what I was feeling. I didn’t want to grow up.

Growing up means more responsibilities. It means more stress. It means swallowing my pride acting like an adult. It means less free time. It means the fun is over. It means a dark and bleak future of eternal suffering.

Which brings me to today. My birthday. My 20th birthday. And… it’s not as bad as I thought.

Sure, I have a bunch more responsibilities. But I’m actually having a lot of fun. I love planning, so planning out all the Programming events for next semester for Beta and IFC is a ton of fun. I have a dozen other non-academic things I need to attend to before I leave. But I’m enjoying myself.

And I’m definitely not acting my age. If you ask anyone that knows me, I’m one of the most obnoxious and immature people around. You can always count on me to say something inappropriate at the worst possible time.

The fun never really ended. Things changed, but I never stopped having fun. I’ve made so many new friends and even more memories. The future is now and it’s not that dark and bleak.

Maybe growing up isn’t as bad as I thought.