As a child, my parents always called me an old soul. I still played Barbies and dress-up in my mother’s vintage clothes, but I also questioned the meaning of life and thought way too much about my own mortality. I was a strange kid, I guess. I still do those things, by the way. At some point in my teens, I started to really look forward to being in my thirties. Thirties must be great, I told myself. I would have everything figured out by then. Things in my life would make sense, I would have a secure relationship, career, and so on. Maybe even own a house! I would definitely have it figured out by thirty.
It sounded good at the time, but I think if I had it all figured out, at thirteen or thirty, life would be quite boring. It’s all a social construct—childhood and adulthood. The truth is, you can be any kind of adult you want to be. The decision making power that comes with age and maturity means: I can eat ice cream out of a wine glass. Mac and cheese is a nutritional enough dinner when loaded with enough veggies (and also pairs exceptionally well with desert scenery and starlight). And most importantly, I can still sleep in the dirt and wake up to beautiful places.
Cover photograph courtesy of Mandy Barbee