I turned seventeen this past Sunday – on April second, two-thousand seventeen.
If you don’t know me personally, you may not have known my age until now.
And it’s not as if it’s a secret – I simply decided a while ago that I didn’t want people to judge me or my writing on my age alone, or have to try and explain when I mention school that I’m a college student, even though I’m supposed to be a high school student, and kind of still am for a few more months.
But something hit me really hard last week. I was talking to some college friends, and coming to the realization that the average age of the majority of my friends is around twenty years old.
And it’s funny – because I joke about it all the time, the fact that I forget that I’m not twenty, myself.
But it’s more than just a joke.
After spending almost an entire week discussing everything under the sun with a dear friend, a friend that’s my own age, I realized how important it was that I don’t forget that I’m only seventeen.
I’ll only ever be seventeen once.