In two weeks I will graduate. I will put 16 years of education behind me and begin a new job more than a 1,000 miles from home.
For the first time in my life, I will live by myself. I will start a new life in a different city and state where I know almost no one. I am excited -- and, I admit, a little scared.
I finally have "grown up," but I always thought that by the time I reached this point in my life I would have more answers. I suddenly realize that 22 is not nearly as old as I thought it was and I am nowhere nearly as "grown up" as I thought I would be by now.
When I played house as a girl, I always made believe that I was 17. I usually was out of college with whatever high caliber job was that week's fancy. Of course, I had a baby or two, but I always was 17. At age 5, anything beyond 17 just seemed old.
Even when I got older and reached that magical number, I anticipated being at a different point in my life by now than I am. My parents met in college, as did my brother and sister-in-law. So, I guess in the back of my mind I always thought that I would meet my future husband during my years at Penn State.
My life plan was to graduate at 22, then live for a year in New York City with my best friend. I would marry at 23, have my first child at 25, my second at 27, and maybe a third at 29. Whatever the case, I definitely would be done with any childbearing by the time I hit 30.
Now one year away from 23, I realize marriage is the last thing I want or am ready for right now. Having a child in three years just seems insane. And, of course, my first job isn't at The New York Times. Maybe 22 isn't that old after all. Or maybe I'm just not as grown up as I thought.
Perhaps this first hit me during winter break. I went to a New Year's Eve party at the home of a high school friend -- and her husband. Several other friends are getting married this summer, and every week it seems that my mother sends me a newspaper clipping of another classmate's engagement announcement. A few others already have families of their own. I have started to wonder how many of my classmates will be married with children at our five-year reunion next summer.
But my own worries don't come close to picking out bridesmaid dresses or changing diapers. Suddenly I find myself trying to decide which health-care package is best and how much money I want deducted from my paychecks for my 401k. Somehow I now have a retirement plan. Maybe 22 is old after all.
My life plan isn't so clear anymore. I am not sure of my exact career track. I question when or if I should go back to school for a graduate degree. I don't even know what part of the country I will be living in three years from now.
Perhaps my real problem is what my idea of grown up is, or even what I want it to be. Married with children? Um, no thanks. Not having any ties, allowing me the time and freedom to advance professionally and grow personally? That's better. Spending a few years living in Florida? Definite bonus.
This column is not meant to give you some wise advice or experienced insight, because I am the last person who should be dispensing such knowledge.
I am not a graduating senior trying to share with freshmen all of the truths and secrets I've discovered during my four years at Penn State. I don't have all the answers, and I don't even know what all the questions are.
But I've come to realize that's OK. I don't need to know it all. Everything doesn't need to be planned out five years in advance. I'm only 22.
After all, if I really knew everything I thought I would know by now, the next 50 years would be pretty boring.
