I have a problem. I woke up today, and I am 15. Usually at this time, I am awake on the couch with my dad, watching Saturday morning cartoons in my footie pajamas. Instead, I’m lacing up my running shoes and getting my car… since when am I old enough to drive a real car?


I have decided I brought this problem upon myself. I spend literally every season waiting for the next one, instead of enjoying what’s going on in the present. I work so hard to focus on my goals, I don’t even celebrate when I complete one.


I spend winter waiting for warm, spring rain. Spring I spend anticipating school to be out and summer to be in. By the end of summer, I’m ready for fall, a fresh start, and then before I know it, I’m ready for Christmas.


I have spent my whole life wishing it away.


Before I know it, I will be old, and I don’t mean old as in old enough to legally drive or drink or have a family.


I mean old enough to play bingo every Wednesday and eat free on senior night at the Crown Uptown.


I’m scared. I’m trying to slow myself down but it doesn’t seem to be working.


When did I decide I wanted to grow up? I’m pretty sure I never did.


And the sad thing is that I am still that little girl watching Saturday morning cartoons on my dad’s lap and singing Barney before bedtime. I cried at the end of Toy Story, I still enjoy a good game of tag, and to be quite honest, I still have a pair of footie pajamas.


So maybe I’m only growing up on the outside. I hope I am never to the point where routine tasks root and I lose my youthful spontaneity. I hope I never wake up at the same time everyday, and eat the same kind of breakfast, and glide through all the seasons, or decide to actually grasp reality.


Because if I ever turn into that, I will consider that as failing myself.