Sleepovers at Grandma’s house were the best. I got to eat unlimited Ferrero Rocher chocolates, watch Disney movies on VHS and listen to her stories before bed.
In one of her guest bedrooms, which was my mother’s childhood room, she kept a toddler bed for me. It was low to the floor with princess bedding, and I loved it.
As I climbed upstairs, my grandma looked at me and laughed softly.
“That bed is too small for you now,” she said. “You can sleep in a big-girl bed.”
An upgrade. My grandmother beamed, proud of this small rite of passage.
I should’ve been ecstatic — more room to roll around, extra pillows and the bragging rights of sleeping in the “big-girl bed.”
Except I wasn’t. That night, I cried myself to sleep. My cousin came into the room and asked what was wrong.
“I don’t want to grow up,” I said.
For as long as I can remember, the idea of growing up has filled me with dread.
Of course, I wanted the perks: driving, going to the mall without my parents and feeling independent. It wasn’t the responsibilities that scared me, but the idea of having to mourn who I once was.
Nostalgia, for me, was never sweet — it was suffocating.
That feeling followed me through different milestones: birthdays, high school graduation and moving into my college dorm. Each transition carried the same bittersweet weight.
The day before moving into college, my best friend and I talked about how we couldn’t fathom the fact that our days of driving to school together every morning and going to basketball practice after school would soon end.
And when I moved into college, it hit me that I could no longer knock on my sister’s bedroom door just to talk.
Change meant letting go of a version of myself and a life I’d known.
The music and media I loved echoed that fear.
My dad, a huge Pink Floyd fan, often played “Time,” which starts with an ominous clock ticking. The song is bleak and a painfully honest reflection of how quickly life slips by.
And, of course, the Swiftie in me clings to Taylor Swift’s song “Nothing New,” where she mourns the fading of youth and the way society treats women as if they have expiration dates.
“What will become of me once I’ve lost my novelty?”
It’s no wonder so many of us equate aging with loss. We’re told college is the best time of our lives.
So does that mean that it’s all downhill after graduation?
As a senior, I find myself reflecting on who I was when I first walked onto this campus and who I’ll be as I walk away.
This ending is bigger than just college. It’s the end of my identity as a student and the time before adulthood sets in.
Yet this time, I’m not as afraid. Aging, I’ve realized, is a privilege, not a punishment. Each year has given me more knowledge, experience and lessons that have shaped me into a dynamic version of myself.
In college, I’ve learned so much about who I am. I’ve run two half marathons after never running in high school. I found confidence in public speaking and classroom presentations, something I’ve never been comfortable with.
I discovered a love for journalism, even though the thought of interviewing a stranger once terrified me. I studied abroad in Spain for a semester, even though the idea of being in another country without my family would have been unimaginable to my younger self.
These versions of me wouldn’t exist if time and experiences hadn’t accumulated.
Maybe society calls youth our “golden years” because it’s when the future still feels wide open — when nothing is set in stone and our identities feel flexible. But our character and successes aren’t finite by a certain age.
While we can’t control the romanticization of youth, we don’t have to accept that narrative.
Getting older means we’ve read more books, met more friends and lived more of our most cherished moments.
This version of me has met lifelong friends, traveled to new places, started new hobbies and is the most educated version of myself.
The truth is, if time didn’t move forward, neither would I.
While I’m sad that my chapter at Lehigh is drawing to a close, I’m also grateful. Aging doesn’t mean all the good days have passed when there’s still opportunities ahead.
My future still feels unknown, but perhaps that’s the most exciting part.
So yes, I’m excited to grow up.