A week from now, I'll be turning 18.
A week from now, chronophobia will not just be a fancy word I found on Wikipedia to explain the fear of time running out.
A week from now, I will look back and think about my younger self; what her expectations were and what she would have said if I told her about the person we are today.
It's weird to think about the way I looked at getting older with every year that passes by. I was convinced that the amount of years someone had spent on this earth would define their intelligence and intellect (and my dad was of course always right. Spoiler: he isn't).
As soon as I turn 18, my younger self thought, I will be the best version of myself I'll ever be; a rope transforming into a butterfly, knowing everything about the world and most importantly myself, being sure about my beliefs and sexuality, being independent with a job and one step closer to my dream career, to sum it up: having all my shit together.
The most unlogical part of it all is that it never even crossed my mind that growing up was more about experience, than the number of years that have passed since my mom went to hell just to be forced to put up with an annoying, little cryer, who rather screamed than slept at night. Especially in this century, with all the easy traveling, the opportunity to connect with people different from us and the internet's ability to widen our horizon and alter our mind, I feel like it isn't your age anymore that defines how old and experienced you are.
Back in the days, when people still lived quite isolated and hardly ever left the shell they lived in to seek the unknown and personal growth, it seems reasonable to assume that a grown man's genius from that time wasn't even close to a 21st century's man's intelligence, tolerance and intellect today. In short: a 20 years old today is probably more experienced and in many ways smarter than a 20 years old from 50 years ago. (To all of the elderly: no, you are not right just because you're older so you know better.)
Considering the fact that I have moved countries twice, have had several jobs that I performed in different languages, developed a healthy lifestyle (well, let's say relatively healthy. My love for peanut butter and chocolate is still huge), taken my first steps into journalism and learned how to make food without burning down the kitchen, I could probably say that I match the person my younger Self would have wanted me to be. Well, disappointingly enough, this couldn't be more far away from the truth.
It's not just that my younger Self had different plans for me; like becoming a musician, photographer, artist or even music teacher (what the hell was I thinking?). With every year that passed by and every experience that formed the person I am today, I drifted more and more away from who I was, or at least thought I was, when I hadn't even reached puberty yet. Don't get me wrong- I still enjoy music, photography and being creative (let's not even talk about a career in teaching). However, if I had told seven year old Annika that I'll be excited to cook something healthy, work out in the morning, go to bed early to get enough sleep, check the news and (God forbid) find out what's going in politics at the moment, she would have asked of the name of the fairytale she just heard about.
There is nothing wrong with making plans for the future and setting yourself goals, as long as they are not as unrealistic as mine were. Perhaps that is why I feel this rush of disappointment and time pressure when I think about who I have become as a person. My younger Self had such high expectations about my intelligence and standpoint in life, that it's only natural to feel like I have not spent my time wisely. I have still not found anything I'm brilliant at, know a thing or two about philosophy, politics and beliefs, but I am far away from being an expert in any of those. I'm OK at drawing and other creative activities, my singing wouldn't kill anyone or break glass and I'm writing just well enough to have made you keep reading until now.
Despite all my experiences in life, I honestly cannot say that I feel like I'm turning 18, whatever that's supposed to feel like. Perhaps I have gained more life experience and knowledge than someone from the 1920's had at that time, but there is still no feeling of achievement, success in life, knowing where I stand- but at least I have a clue about where to go from here. There is still so much to learn, an endless list of places to discover including my inner self, and memories to be made. I think I'll stop waiting for the numbers of years I have lived to magically make me better, and rather start living to become the best version of myself I could possibly be.
(Here's a picture of me as a fat clot with arms and legs)