Well, one year is drawing to a close and a new one is just around the corner. Time passing never seems as dramatic as it does when you can say “see you next year” to someone and know that you really mean it.

It is sort of funny to take stock and think about how an entire year, fifty two weeks, three hundred sixty five days, eight thousand, seven hundred fifty hours and an even more ridiculous number of minutes have gone by since you last found yourself following the kind of train of thought that connects to words like “resolutions” and “goals for the new year” and “self-improvement.”

Wait, did I say funny? That wasn’t the word I meant.

Terrifying! That’s the word I meant.

Joking aside, the beginning of a new year and the ending of an old one is starting to feel more than a little bit ominous. As a teenager, I’m already living under a deadline—to make something of myself, or at least have the next few years of my future planned by the time I hit 18. That is, after I spend the next two years needing to ask permission to use the bathroom for eight hours out of the average day. Which is a whole ‘nother kettle of fish, not to mention justified teenage rage, right there. Perhaps another time.

The point is—and I’m sure all the adults reading this are finding it very amusing that the teenager is having a freak out about age and time passing being a real thing—that the reality of time and the fact it’s a thing that is not only happening but happening to me is hitting home.

Apparently, I lied about moving on, because I feel the need to jump up and down right here and yell that I am in fact the right age to start thinking about this. Laughing at my timely selfrealization is highly hypocritical when it’s coming from people who also had to experience this same apprehension for the first time.

Yes, your secret is out, you responsible grownups were once immature teenagers too. Can I continue, or would you like to pause and chuckle a bit more?

…Now I’m moving on, I promise.

Humans are really good at selective forgetfulness. If we have to live with unpleasant realities or inconvenient truths, we just make a habit of forgetting that they exist most of the time. Of course, constantly remaining oblivious means that when a reminder breaks through the pleasant façade, it hits rather hard.

I guess that explains why birthdays and New Year’s end up being times of contemplation.

Every year of my life is a smaller fraction of it than the previous one was, and I know it’s only going to go faster from here on out. So I guess all I can do is try to remain selfaware— or at least, hang onto the rare moments.

— Nina Collay is a junior at Thornton Academy.

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