dear maturity

Can you hear me knocking at your door?

Those determined strokes are mine. Take a good look. The blonde, lanky woman standing before you now has come a long way from the naive, awkward teenager who used to despise you so. Don't ask me how I got here. I just keep finding myself back in this spot, standing on your threshold.

Many times I've raised my fist to your door, but dropped it over and over again. I've turned away from you and walked, sulking, back to familiarity. But here I am - ready to look you in the eye. I'm finally prepared to step, with my head held high, into your imposing foyer and tread your territory with confidence and poise.

I want to tell you that you don't scare me anymore. Over the past year I have allowed the idea of you to creep slowly into my life as well as my head. And I've learned to embrace you. I think you will be proud to see the woman I have become, the things I have done, and what I still plan to do.

I have lived on my own for 4 months in another country.
I got a summer internship at a Website in New York City.
I've paid to live in a Columbia dorm.
And most importantly I know who I am.
There is nothing I can't do.

What I'm trying to say, maturity, is that I've been training for 20 years to give you a decent fight. It's taken a lot, but here I am, ready to take you on and make you my own.

Bring it