“Act Your Age.” - Navigating Societal Pressures and Deadlines

Twenty-one is a strange age. Conflicting and contradicting. As a teenager who felt as though I had to mature faster than my peers, I was relieved to reach my twenties. Ditching the “teen” label felt like the shift I needed to be viewed externally as I felt internally. To be respected more.

Now that I have transitioned physically into adulthood, as well as mentally, I often am the youngest in the room. Working with a variety of people, many with families and stories of their own. A lot of conversations around the canteen table begin with, “You’re probably too young to know who this is.” Or “You’re going to make me feel very old now.”

From the day I was legally able to drink alcohol to the present, I have had barely a thing to drink. During my early teenage years, I said to my mother, “I will go to Vegas for my twenty-first birthday.” Unknowing of the circumstances life would place me in and the heaviness my heart would hold, I did not expect to spend my twenty-first in the humble city of Paris drinking only coffee.

For the majority of this year, I have spent each evening alone. This isolation brought a loneliness that I found extremely difficult to endure. However, recently my sister has exited a long-term relationship - resulting in her wanting to occupy more quality time with me. We regularly visit the buzzing streets of London to dance and drink until the next day. The night awakens a part of me that I enjoy most and treasure. So, when I drink, I do not drink to get drunk. I drink to make the night last longer.

As well as our hazy city escapades, my sister and I went on an all-inclusive holiday abroad where I certainly took advantage of this perk. It was not my intention to be as intoxicated as I was, but I do things in extremes. I am a passionate person. This can be both a pleasure and a flaw. (Read my article Leaving Corfu With Stories To Tell to entertain yourself with my inebriated anecdotes.)

The age of twenty-one seemed mature to me once. I deemed it as an age devoted to working, earning money and saving that money to financially support a family eventually. My twenties were primarily focused on building the foundation for my thirties. Something has shifted in me over the last few months and I view this decade differently. In fact, I do not view the decade at all. My focus is on the present and the memories I can make today. The stories I can write to tell forever. The lust for life I lost along the way has been restored. Now, I act young.

Though this lifestyle brings me more pleasure than pressure, as it did before, I struggle with the notion of “acting young”. The narratives I recite of my time under the moon or behind a drink are often followed by similar reactions. Phrases such as, “Those days are behind me now.” And, “Why not? You’re only twenty-one!” This commonality of opinion should ease the pressure I put on myself, both financially and emotionally, but it does not. Hearing these words makes me want to scream, “No. No. I am actually very mature. And very much struggling to be happy. You see, I must’ve grown much faster than others my age. I am different to the other twenty-one-year-olds. I am not as happy as you think! I am not happy!” It is frustrating to feel required to defend my state when I work so hard to alter it. What they believe I am, I want to be. Whatever they see me as, I want to see that, too.

Society is partly to blame. Owning this ideology of what a human must accomplish at particular stages of their life. By the age of thirty, you must be married and have at least one child. Though, your twenties should be filled with only fun and dancing. Drinking too much and flirting with everyone. This contradiction is a frustrating one to navigate. Truthfully, I do not want to even attempt to. I do not want to feel incapable of enjoying my life because my heart is too heavy for me to move my feet. And, I do not want people to look at me as though no substantial thoughts circulate in my head. That I do not care about the important things. Or care about somebody other than myself.

The only way to pilot this concept is to terminate the defence I hold for myself. To stop justifying the way that I choose to live and attempt to be happy. I am trying. That is what should be focused on. For nobody can ever please all. Should I drink too much alcohol, I am a typical and wild twenty-one-year-old. Should I choose to be sober, I am living my life improperly. I adore dancing. So, I will dance. And, I will make memories while I heal. If I ever do “act my age”, it will never be because somebody else told me to.