I just turned 20, three weeks ago today. No longer a teenager, but not yet a full-fledged adult. I have wanted to be a twenty-something for a long time, thinking, THAT is when real life starts. But then I took a good, hard look at the last year of my existence.

First totaled car. First destroyed camera. First puke in a subway car. First destroyed cell phone. First time getting kicked out of a club. First time being a minority. First cracked iPod. First cracked smartphone. First lost smartphone. First broken pair of glasses (and second).

First music festival. First time going alone to a concert. First time being two feet away from the Shins (and hopefully not the last!) First male roommate. First time in Europe. First time in Asia. First real job. First time living alone. First signed lease. First time living abroad. First kiss with a girl.

First time clubbing on a boat. First friendship with a stranger, conveniently met on aforementioned boat. First stay in a hostel. First hamburger cake. First selfie with Donald Glover (paired with a great Q&A).

First death of a close family member.

First broken heart (not mine). First online dating profile. (and second.) Subsequently, first two destructions of said profiles.

First Fourth-of-July abroad. First puke in an embassy. First friendships made by puking in an embassy. First culture shock.

There are more, but those are for me.

Let the Roarin’ 20s begin.