I’m at a funny old time in my life. At 19, I’m creeping out of my teenage years and second year here in St Andrews means that I’m almost in the middle of my degree, which is a scary old thought by itself.
I’m an almost grown up.
I have a house, where I’m responsible for my own bills and grocery shopping yet I still think smiley faces are an acceptable dinner. Contrary to the movies, I don’t spend six out of seven nights out but do seem to have a weakness for a glass of red wine after a long day. I may have more commitments but have gained some productivity over the summer. I’ve discovered the wonders of a to-do list and a Filofax but you can bet that I still write them in pink pens. I’ve worked out that there is nothing better than woollen tights but still choose ballet shoes over something a little more practical. Even when it’s raining.
It could be the arrival into the second year of my degree (when my marks do actually count) or maybe its the imminence of the big 2-0, but I feel like I’ve suddenly found a little bit of maturity. And I kinda like it. I trust myself more and the prospect of walking into a group of new people is no longer the most challenging part of my day. Maturity seems to have brought a sprinkling of independence and confidence with it and I’m certainly not complaining.
But you can bet that my folks will be the first people I call when I break the dishwasher.