“There comes a point in your life where you’re officially an adult. You’re old enough to vote, drink, and engage in other adult activities. Suddenly people expect you to be responsible, serious, and grown up. We get taller. We get older. But do we ever really grow up?  In some ways we grow up, but for the most part we still have the same problems that we did when we were fifteen.  No matter how much we grow taller, grow older, we are still forever stumbling. Forever wandering. Forever young.”
– Grey’s Anatomy

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ORIGIN STORY – Am I a writer?

Every good superheroine needs an origin story.

When I was young, I thought I wanted to be a writer.  As a kid, I wrote countless stories.  I made little comic books.  I wrote little articles for the elementary school newspaper.  My bedroom was littered with notebook papers covered in doodles, lists, poems, anecdotes, and magazine clippings.

In high school, I wrote constantly.  I received one of the top scores on the state writing assessment.  I took a writing course in a special summer program called The Governor’s Honors Academy, and wrote a novella.  I filled journals with funny, angsty, and cringe-worthy musings.  In my college admissions essay, I earnestly vowed that no matter what path my life took, I would always be a writer.

Then I started college, and got busy with other things.  Before I realized what had happened, my only writing was term papers.  Then I became a teacher, and my writing was for lesson plans.  Occasionally my inner writer would surface.  I’d teach my students about creative writing and compose a story for them.  During a poetry unit, I wrote a rap song incorporating all the kids’ names, and christened myself “Queen LaTeacha.”  Another year, the students got to write and publish stories, so I penned a children’s picture book.

Years passed.

Then last summer, I took a class at church based on the book The Dream Giver.  It’s about how each of us has been given a big dream to pursue, but we have to be brave and persistent enough to work for it.

I didn’t know what my dream was.  I shared this with my teacher, Mike Miller.  His two word reply was simply this:  “Look back.”

So I did.  And eventually, I remembered.  I couldn’t believe that something that was once so very important to me had simply disappeared from my life.  Thus, the idea for this blog was born.

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What is a Youngish Adult?

I’ve always heard that you should write about what you know.  (I’m not sure that I completely agree with that, unless J.K. Rowling really IS a witch.  That would mean that Hogwarts is real, and there’s no way I’d be a muggle.)

Suddenly I’m thirty-two and still trying to figure out exactly how the hell it happened so fast.

Sometimes I scrutinize every wrinkle. I’ll complain about contemporary music, and scoff at the ridiculous “kids these days.”  Sometimes I feel like a lovably cantankerous old lady.  Listening to kids in their early twenties plan their adventures, I roll my eyes and feel ancient and weary.  It’s all very “GET OFF MY LAWN!  …But first come inside and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea!”

Sometimes I race down the highway in my Mustang with the windows down and the music blasting.  I attend midnight screenings of movies aimed at teenagers.  Hours of my life are wasted scrolling through Buzzfeed posts. Sometimes I feel so incredibly young.  I picture myself as the heroine of some spunky indie comedy romance and dream of what could be.

In reality?  I’m caught between those two worlds.  I’m not yet middle aged.  I’m nowhere near old.  I’m not a kid anymore, and have moved past the young adult phase.  I guess you could say I’m… youngish.

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Here’s what you can expect to read about on www.youngishadultdiaries.com:
– Funny, Heartfelt, and/or Ridiculous Essays and Stories
– Makeup and Beauty Tips and Tutorials
– Pop Culture Tidbits
– Cautionary Tales of Bad Dates
– Things I Wish I Knew in my Twenties
– Possibly Snarky Movie, Music, and TV Reviews
– Other Assorted Random Awesomeness

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So here we go.  Let’s do this.
“Hold onto your butts.” – Samuel L. Jackson, Jurassic Park