As I approach my 18th birthday I can’t help but be a little frightened about the future. The age of 18 is an important one. It screams adulthood, independence, and bittersweet beginnings. Even though my dad says I’ll always be his little girl (especially while I’m under his roof) there is an additional freedom that may come with turning 18.
Yesterday, one of my best friends gifted me a ring (and she bought one for herself and my other best friend) that reads “forever young” and has our names on the inside. Now whether I wear this ring til I’m old and gray or not, I think this idea will be engrained in my mind until I die. It is my biggest hope that, despite my physical appearance as life ages me, I preserve my youth. I don’t think that increasing age should translate to decreasing fun or whimsicalness (if that is even a word). Sure, we grow older and with our age comes experiences and lessons; but we should not have to become so serious or jaded.
Everything will start and end with laughter, with smiles, with silliness. When my skin starts to wrinkle and my withering bones grow weak, I wish for my spirit and heart to be forever silly, forever playful, and forever young.