being really young

I’m twenty.

I’m really young. Like really young. Like age is just a number young.

         There’s an Ethel Cain lyric. It’s in A House in Nebraska. Put it on. Go on. I’ll wait. Go on…

         And it hurts to miss you, but it's worse to know/That I'm the reason you won't come home.

         I’ve loved people. I’ve hurt people. Been loved by people. Been hurt by people. But is there someone that would stop me going home? Is there someone who has so much influence and power and connection and owns enough of my veins to stop me going home?

         To be honest, maybe there is. There’s people that have made me dread returning. But what about what the line is actually saying, because I inverted it and I only just realised. Is there anyone who won’t come home because of me?

         Nope. I don’t own enough of anyone’s veins. Thank God.

         It hasn’t been a long time since anything for me.

         Not a long time since my first day of nursery, primary school, university, my first steps, my first cinema trip, my first drink, losing my virginity, my first cigarette, my first time on the toilet.

Struggling to find things in the middle, sorry.

My Grandad will say “It’s been a generation since I was at university.” and I’m like “Yeah.” but it’s probably been two. There are nations that have lasted a shorter time than when my Grandad was at university. If my life was a trip to the ice rink I’m like two laps through. Especially in terms of progress. Well, fingers crossed.

And that’s only if I live as is the average life expectancy for someone like me. I drink, smoke, eat poorly, don’t exercise enough, sleep enough. Bit rich to expect a full life, Ben. A car might take me out tomorrow. Today.

One of the most important people in the life of one of my most important people died this past week. Forty.

Bit rich to expect anything at all, Ben.

I’m really young.

I was having a conversation a few days ago. It was with someone my age. They were talking about their future with someone else. Marriage. Kids. House. Not to single them out. I have spoken to plenty of other friends about planning proposals, housing arrangements based on romantic relationships, etc. I don’t think I’ve made any particularly big decisions about my own life yet. I mean I’m sure I have. But only under absolute necessity. I’m really young, let’s not forget.

I find it baffling (not in a bad way, or a good one, or any moral standing or value judgement kind of way) that people my age and younger make huge decisions about not just their own lives but ones based on a singular other person when they don’t need to. What is the rush? It is so much responsibility when I don’t know anything. I’m so young.

This isn’t about me trying to shirk responsibility by the way. I am obviously intelligent and mature enough to differentiate between good and bad decisions sometimes. All decisions I make are my own.

I’m just so young and I find my peers baffling.

Definitely brave.

But besides bravery, I don’t know how they do it.

Really, really young.

What is it about love that matures us? Or makes us appear so. Feel so.

P.S.

(Yes, I’d probably be the same if I was in love, but I also don’t know that and neither do you.)

P.P.S

(Well done, Em, on your new blog squee.)