The year that I turned 20, I went out to a restaurant with about 15 of my closest friends, ate too much pasta, did too many shots, and then stumbled my way back to the mouse infested apartment I shared with a pair of roommates who had started hooking up in a way they thought was secret but was in fact so completely blatant it was practically skywritten. A good time was had by all – by all accounts, we’d had a blast. And yet, when I arrived home, all I could do was cry.
Now, we can probably chalk at least some of that up to the excessive alcohol consumption. But I was so overcome by turning 20 that I hardly knew what to do with myself. Twenty meant I was no longer a teenager. Twenty meant I no longer had an excuse. Twenty meant I’d have to be responsible for my behaviour. Though turning 18 had made me a legal adult, 20 felt like the deadline for growing up. I had a lot of ideas about what the number meant to me, and looking back, I can see how those ideas led to my rather early foray into marriage and motherhood, as well.
Prompt: How old were you on your last birthday? Does that number hold any special meaning to you? Did you look forward to it, or dread it? What was your last milestone birthday? How did that make you feel? Are there things that you expected to accomplish by this age that you have not done yet?
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I’m a communicator. That’s a PC way of saying I like to talk, but I also spend a lot of my time listening, and over the years, I’ve developed a sense for subtext – how one or two words can change your entire message, what people are really trying to say and how to weave the varied layers of your story into one cohesive brand message that your clients fall in love with.
When I'm not acting as editor in chief for Vivid & Brave, you can find me geeking out over words here.
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