Growing up and being 20++

By Isabel Rodriguez

I always thought that by 20 I’d have grown into “the person I would be”– a vague idea when being imagined by a twelve year old. Three years into my twenties, and yet the person I find myself to be is nothing like the fictitious, mature self I’d assumed I’d just turn into one day. When you're twelve, no one ever tells you that change is a conscious effort or that growing up is not synonymous to growing old. I was, as Christopher Lao  put it, not informed.

No one told me, nor could I have ever imagined that at twenty three, my mother would still be nagging me to clean up after myself. The twenties, as I have discovered, is not a free exit pass. Age will not exempt you from responsibility, with the accumulation of years comes with the assumption that you know better. (Boo!)

At twenty three, I still think that Magic School bus is a cool show, and no, liking it does not make me a dork. I still believe that Bill Nye is awesome, and Tom and Jerry are annoying. I still like Disney films and princesses and sometimes the movies still make me cry. I still go gaga over Lisa Frank. Some days, I still spend my afternoons going around Toy Kingdom checking out all the cool toys my parents never bought me.

Being twenty something does not make you feel any different. Personally, I feel like I’ve been walking around with the body I had at fifteen (though other people would certainly disagree). Point is, everything feels exactly as it were.  Is this how being a (semi) grown up is supposed to feel like– exactly the same as I felt at fifteen?

Younger, I wondered how my impatient, hot headed self would become that calm, collected lady. I wondered where I’d get that zen. I sort of assumed I’d pick it up along the way as I grow into my twenties. Wrong. What I’ve managed to learn, though, is how to keep my mouth shut when I’m furious. I still make fun of people, I get impatient, and I get mad. You just never hear it or read about it on twitter/my blog.

At twenty three, I’d have adult Sunday lunch dates with my friends, or wine nights at art galleries and I’d still feel like I’m pretending. “What a grown up this! What a grown up that!”, we’d exclaim to ourselves. And then, we end up gossiping about high school classmates.

The truth is that there is no line or border that separates childhood from adulthood. I always thought of the magical “two-oh” as an exit from my clumsy childhood self, but I find that I am more similar than I am different to who I was years back. What I’ve realized after all those birthdays is that if this is the person I am to be when I do finally grow up, 20+, or 30+, or 40+, or even 50+, then that’s okay with me.


I like myself when I like cartoons.