With age, confidence grows but simple lessons remain

Maturation sure is a funny thing. As my freshman year of college draws to a close, and I likewise close in on my twentieth year, I am shocked at how old I am. I realize there is still a fair distance to the top of the metaphorical hill, but relatively speaking, I am beginning to comprehend my age. I imagine that we all go through a time when we just can't believe how old we are, or how adult our responsibilities have become. I used to get that vibe every time I put on a pair of pantyhose. I figured that would be the end of it, but no, nature had much more in store for me.

So here I am, nearly twenty years old, wondering how it came to be this way. This issue was brought up in my mind over Easter weekend while talking with my younger cousin. She's just about twelve, and I shudder to remember that age. Preteens are probably my greatest fear, besides drowning and rodents of unusual size. It's that age when kids think they know everything, and respect nothing. One might argue that, since we were all there once, how can I say I fear preteens? But it is important to recall there were two distinct sides of the preteen coin. There was the popular side, with those people who blindly strove to fit in and succeeded, and those who just didn't, despite their best efforts. You can probably guess on which side this little Princetonian fell.

Getting back to the particular issue at hand, my cousin had been catching flak for her devotion to Harry Potter, he being evidently "uncool and immature." I thought, "Well, that's not true. I'm in college and I like Harry Potter." But then I remembered how it was back when I was that age. I think it was uncool to like anything, no matter what it was. You had to think everything was stupid in order to get ahead. I also remembered how easily I succumbed to those pressures with the hope of fitting in. It certainly wasn't as easy to me then as it is now to ignore what other people said, or to be independently minded enough not to mind if what they said wasn't particularly flattering. I was beginning to realize what a difference a few years actually does make.

Now, all those petty problems of wearing the right clothes, or liking the right music, or acting like I'm older than I am seem much too insignificant for any real consideration. Now, it seems that the right clothes are whatever I like, the right music is what's on my radio and being older is already what I am. I ask myself, when did that happen? When did it become alright for me to dress in my own way, which some may claim is slightly left of normal, or to like the Backstreet Boys, even though all my peers jeered me for it?

These questions bounced around in my brain as I endeavored to give my cousin advice. For the life of me, I couldn't really come up with an answer. The only reply resembling an answer to me was that the transition was so gradual that it was imperceptible. This also raises the question of whether it was I that changed, or the world that changed. Although I might like to think that the world changed to suit me, it's safe to say that I did the changing. But how? Somewhere between 6th grade and now, part of me was completely and irrevocably altered, and suddenly following became leading, closed became open and dark became light. What could I tell my cousin to put her mind at ease, to assure her that this evolution was indeed occurring in her and her peers as we spoke? What can I say?

"Do what you want, like what you like and tell anyone who has a problem with it to go soak their head." Sometimes the simple solutions are best.

Noelle Muro is a freshman from East Haven, Conn.