In the movies, coming of age is a cinematic event. There’s usually a beat drop, a sudden epiphany — one singular moment where the protagonist realizes they’re ready for the next chapter.
In reality, it’s a slow, internal progression. It’s the kind of marginal change you’ll miss if you don’t look for it.
So far, no milestone has ever sparked any life-changing transformation.
I thought it might be the first phone, the first credit card swipe, finally sitting behind the wheel of a car, but after the first few days, the novelty of the “new journey” always fades. Nothing fundamentally shifts.
Maturity doesn’t have a specific start date. It just seeps in…slowly but surely, only visible when I actually take the time to look back.
When I do, I realize the person I was and the person I am wouldn’t recognize each other.
I see it most clearly in my relationship with my dad. We’re both impatient people. That’s not something that will really change. What has, though, is the way we navigate conflict.
Three or four years ago, we were both quick to overreact, sparking unnecessary conflicts and adding fuel to every fire. Today, while it’d be wrong to say I’m perfect, I’m more careful, more thoughtful with words. I’ve found I’m capable, at least sometimes, of de-escalating an argument rather than trying to win it.
He’s told me he’s proud to see me grow, see me mature, see me move closer and closer to adulthood. If you asked him, I think he’d say we’ve both grown — together. I’d say the same.
So yes, I can safely say my identity has evolved, even if I’ve missed the exact moments where the shifts occurred.
Now, I’ve realized I’m writing my own coming of age story, and I’m currently stuck in the middle — at the crossroads of holding on to the final years of childhood while reaching for the next step.
Longing for respect, but clinging to a world without responsibilities.
Old enough to be proud of my achievements, but too young to feel like I’ve really accomplished anything “meaningful” yet.
Thankfully — as impatient as I am — I understand this isn’t a story I need to rush to finish.
The fact that I’ll legally be an adult in just over a year — it excites me. It’s freeing, in a way, but at the same time — terrifying.
I’m not entirely ready to let go of childhood yet. I know I’m not. But I know I’m growing. I know that in a year, I’ll be a different person. A person who’s ready to accept the title of adult.
I’ve spent a lot of time imagining that becoming a “legal adult” will feel like a sudden, heavy shift, but I suspect it will be just like every other milestone so far — not as dramatic as I once envisioned.
Do I want to be a kid or an adult? My answer changes every day. Until I eventually have to make a complete transition, I know I won’t have a consistent response.
What I do know is that my “second” coming of age story might not happen for another five years. Or 10. Or 20.
But I know my first is already underway.
I’m writing it right now.
