an apology to those I’ve lost touch with, and also myself.

It’s evidently obvious to me that growing up is a terrifying construct for most people.

Myself included.

Whether it’s mentioning to my friends the fact that we are about halfway done with college and seeing them cover their ears immediately, or watching one more “Day in my life working in New York City” TikTok that makes me want to just punch my screen.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Ribs by Lorde just happened to come up next on the shuffle as I’m writing this.

Growing up is intimidating.

But I’ve also learned that lately, I’ve been excited about growing up. This excitement comes from realizing something.

1. My life is so different than it was last year, in the best way.

Last year, I lived in a shoebox of a dorm and had to walk everywhere. I didn’t know that many people. I missed my family so much, missed my life at home. It got better, but I still didn’t feel at home in my college town.

This year, I live in a 4 x 2 apartment with my best friends and my own room! I bought a car and brought it to school with me. I love going on drives and listening to music with the windows down. I still miss my family, I miss my local restaurant, and the lifelong friends I met in that town.

But now, when I accidentally call Blacksburg home… I don’t immediately retract the statement. I embrace it.

At the end of the night, I get to text my roommates, “Ready to go home and air-fry bagel bites?”

I get to call my mom on my walk back from class and say “It’s super cold out, but it’s okay, I’ll be home soon.” Even she accepts I’m referring to the home I share with Jenna, Julia, and Berkley, not Dad, Mom, and Brady.

I get to call my big sister, who left home years before me, and I share my concerns with growing up. She soothes me with her years of wisdom. She tells me about how leaving home was scary and new, but ultimately changed her for the better. Her stories excite me, and I finally admit, growing up isn’t all bad.

As I’m done calling my family on the lazy Sunday when I finally catch a break from the busy week, I think…who am I missing?

In my head, I check off the imaginary list of the people I need to check in with. The list grows longer and longer, and suddenly I realize there are people I haven’t spoken to in months.

Yeah sure, we text, or I commented on their Instagram post, maybe even swiped up and congratulated them on a recent accomplishment.

But did I call to wish her a happy birthday?

But what about my best friends from home, what are they doing today?

I realize I don’t know.

These people, whom I used to know their class schedules, and their greatest fears. I don’t know what they’re doing today.

It’s a weird feeling, the guilt. The guilt of not checking in, not calling them to hear their voice. Not knowing what’s made them happy today, or even sad.

I sat with this guilt for a while. I didn’t know what to do with it. Do I call? Or am I only calling because I feel guilty.

So I went on a walk with my roommate, one of the few people I am constantly checking in with. Talking to. Crying to. Laughing to.

She had similar thoughts.

And I realized it’s not just me.

Friendships and relationships, they are a two-way street.

I’m not checking in with them, but they aren’t checking in with me.

I know that sounds rough, but think about it.

We’re both busy. School, work, extracurriculars. We both have families we prioritize and the new friends in the new places.

So, we both settled for being on each other’s most exclusive private story, where we might know what the other person had for lunch, or what assignment they are struggling with.

Yet I still feel the guilt. The guilt of calling my grandma on the day after her birthday. The guilt of not knowing a good friend from home had a new relationship. The guilt of not keeping up with all the people I love.

So I guess this kind of is an apology. To those I’ve lost touch with over the past few years. I’m sorry for not making time to call.

But just know I think about you all constantly. Whether it’s on my walk to class and a song reminded me of you, or I saw your mom post on Facebook, and remembered all the weekends I spent hanging out in your basement.

And also maybe an apology to myself. I’m sorry for not making time for the thing you are most passionate about: this blog. In many ways, I have grown. But writing for this blog brought so much life into my eyes, and I feel it now. I feel guilty for losing that part of myself for a bit, but it’s okay.

It’s okay to forget to call, or not have enough time in the day to write for fun rather than school.

We’re all twenty-somethings struggling with the guilt growing up. And I am going to call more, but I’m also going to realize life happens. We grow older and further away. But those friendships that make it through the time and the distance, cherish them.

Those friendships don’t come around often. The one you call after a few weeks and it’s like nothing has changed.

So yes, there is a bit of guilt when growing up, but as I said earlier, there is also excitement.

   2. Growing up leads to new problems. New problems leads to new  perspectives. New perspective leads to GROWTH!

I read this poem, one that left a pretty sour taste in my mouth. It was about being twenty, reminiscing on who you were ten years ago, a ten-year-old whose biggest problem was deciding on which color of blue to use to draw the ocean. 

But that’s simply not true, is it? At ten, we still have problems. Those girls wouldn’t let you sit with them at lunch or include you in their game of tag. So you cried to your mom, asking what was so unlikeable about you, and you apologized for soaking her shirt in your tears. 

Maybe at ten, your parents were yelling at each other, maybe they got a divorce. Maybe it was hard to see the people who created you fall out of love. Even if at ten you didn’t understand it all, it still made you sad.

Maybe your grandpa died, and even at ten, you began to regret not getting to know him better before he passed. 

The point is, at twenty you may find yourself crying in your room hundreds of miles from where you grew up, wishing you were ten again. Because at ten you did struggle picking a color of blue for the ocean. But don’t pretend your ten year old self didn’t understand the other pain, true pain. Because she did. Because problems don’t come with age. You just understand them a little bit better the older you grow. And even though that is scary, you are maturing. You find better tools to deal with your problems, or maybe even solve them.

There will always be problems. Each year you get older, there will be new things to worry about. There’s no getting rid of that. But if your ten-year-old self can get through them, so will you. 

Twenty may seem repetitive, and sad. And maybe even lonely. Because sometimes it is, that’s just how life is. But it is also exciting and new. Each day brings new joys.

The joy of Starbucks buy one get one free (because if it’s BOGO, it’s basically free, right?)

The joy of watching the sunset from your apartment deck, because you’re old enough to live with your best friends now!

The joy of making a new pasta recipe that tastes like heaven. The joy of drinking a glass of wine and watching trashy reality TV.

But remember what your ten-year-old self did to feel better. She cried in her mom’s shirt. You can still do that. You can still lean on the ones you love. That’s why you love them. They care for you. 

Growing up has made me feel a lot of things. Lonely, sad, guilty.

Lonely, sad, and guilty that I lost touch with some people I love. But I also got to know new friends.

I got to learn about their class schedules and biggest fears. I got to experience introducing a new friend to my parents for the first time, by first warning her my dad would probably call her “fluff” but not to worry, because that means he likes you.

I get to be on my own, so when I do check in with my parents and they ask “how’s school?” I don’t just respond with “good” and run up to my room. I tell them about my professors, and how excited I am to start taking marketing classes. I tell them waking up for my 8 AM is hard, but not as hard as catching the bus freshman year of high school at 6:45 AM.

I get to mess up, and make mistakes. I also get to get back up and try again.

I get to grow up, and that’s nothing to feel guilty about. It’s quite literally the biggest blessing of them all.

xoxo, megs