The Gates of Adulthood
Illustration by Casey Beifuss
Nineteen is a weird age. You’re technically still in your teenage years — the very last of it, the cusp of adolescence and adulthood — yet you’re constantly struggling to catch up with either side.
On one hand, you’re catching up with the life experiences everyone seems to have already, cramming years of suppressed teenage recklessness in the few months before entering your feared 20s. On the other, you’re catching up with peers who simply know what they’re doing, who have their careers figured out and, somehow, have already mastered the skills you’ve barely started developing.
It caught me at a weird moment, too. Right after the summer of 2021 — which felt like a separate timeline from the pandemic-ridden one we’ve been living in for the past eternity — was when I first discovered the fun of acting on your impulses, and letting your life become eventful (for better or worse). For the first time, I felt like I had the chance to temporarily escape life by doing the things that my parents or the pandemic restricted me to do before. Most importantly, I had the chance to escape.
As an early fall baby, turning 19 caught me right after that wild and manic period in my life. But, in all honesty, it would be inaccurate to say that period was over. If anything, it was only starting.
It also caught me at the busiest I’ve been in my life. I worked until 2 a.m. nearly every night, and woke up before 9 to go to my classes. I worked on whatever I was working on until late; I either went back to work or went out to party.
I quickly discovered the mystical invisibility in going out — the crowd of confessionaries, yelling hell at the beat drop with no one paying mind, finding comfort in the kind girls lined up for the bathroom — it provides a sense of safety and community, where the competitiveness and hostility of life fail to foster. No one knows where you’re coming from or where you’re going; they only know you’re there for that moment, and that’s all that seems to matter.
Going out became a haven from the endless comparisons, and the stressors of deciphering how to properly enter early adulthood. I fell in love with the numbing effects of nightlife and the sense of community it provides. On a dance floor, no one cries alone, and no one minds if you do; it’s not like anyone there would remember anyway.
It feels good, at least at first, so you keep going. Eventually, you forget how to stop. You want more, so you keep chasing that manic, intense and unstoppable feeling no matter where it leads you.
One day, you wake up and look in the mirror, and realize you haven’t seen yourself in months. What’s left is spark less eyes, dull skin and incessant exhaustion. It’s all fun until you know bathroom floors like the back of your hand.
Keeping that wild, reckless party girl alive while simultaneously welcoming adulthood proves itself to be impossible soon enough. Your body slowly gives up, and you start to rely on anything that will help you function, or stop functioning.
Being a hot mess isn’t as cool anymore once you enter your 20s. The romanticization of teenage carelessness and catastrophe stops once the world assumes you know what you’re doing. Everyone says it’s okay to mess up and be confused, but no one proudly reveals themselves when they do mess up or feel confused. It might be confirmation bias, but it always seems like the people around me have it all together — with their shiny trophies and impeccable resumes. Those who don’t live with freedom and carelessness; I have to admire it sometimes.
Eventually, what used to be a relief from work and school burnout starts to burn you out, too. Bad memories of less-than-conscious mistakes start to taint the places that offered you a reliable escape, and you grow to resent them. Now, you feel the need to escape them.
I thought I was invincible. I thought I knew it all, thought I had all the answers. But I didn’t, and that took me too long to realize.
The death of the party girl hit me on a walk home after one of those nights. Alone at 3 a.m., with no one but the ghosts of glitter and strobe lights guiding me home. I could’ve listened closely to what I heard that night, but instead, I went to sleep and hoped I wouldn’t remember in the morning. Unlike other nights, and against my best wishes, I didn’t forget. I couldn’t handle it, so I just shoved it away and, for months, forgot about it.
A chain reaction followed. The fast, eventful life I had progressively started to slow down. I took a couple of L’s on the way down: quitting a job, failing a class, rushing in and out of a relationship. But eventually, I returned to some sense of normalcy. I had several epiphanies while grieving the party girl. By the time I had processed what I had gone through, I felt the cusp shift sides, from adolescence to adulthood.
I loved the fun of it all, even when it was removed from the numbness and recklessness. I still do. The beauty of going out is still there, even when it’s not to escape. Dancing will always be fun, no matter when or where. I learned that there are healthier ways to find that rush and enjoy it, without ignoring real life. I learned that you can craft a life where you don’t need to escape to survive. After months of not recognizing the reflection in the mirror, I eventually saw myself again, a tiny spark in my eyes — not the impulsive, manic spark of teenage recklessness, but a simple spark of content.
I can still hear the music blasting from the bars in midtown, nearby where I live. Weekly, I see the people who walked the Via Crucis as I did, to and from those same bars. If I look closely enough, I can see the ghosts of the party girls guiding them home.
Now I’m standing at the gates of adulthood, fearful; my 20s are quickly approaching, which terrifies me. I don’t have everything figured out, and growing up still scares me, but I’m here.
I think I learned a thing or two, and, if nothing else, I lived. ♦