Altar Ego, Part Two: Life Advice From an 18 Year Old

There's quite a few times where I completely deny that I'm an adult forget that I've aged since I was eighteen. Okay, fine, sixteen. Twelve. You know what, let's not talk about this.

 While I know how one can come off as "mature" (it usually involves claiming you just can't live without your morning coffee and that you totally read the newspaper with said coffee), I often refer to my eighteen year old self for advice. This results in weird haircuts and vague, "I'm-trying-to-be-philosophical" statements about life.

So, for those of you who read my fifteen-year-old self's sage life advice and are yearning for just a little more guidance, you've come to the right place--seeing as 18 is the magic number where everything makes sense, and lotto tickets stop being cool.

And so, I present to you: life advice from an 18 year old!

Look, even though you're still a teenager, people expect you to present yourself, like...eloquently. You're an adult now. Not only should you accept your suffering, you should brag about it, and, here's the key, pretend to enjoy your suffering. Sure, you can't wear too much eyeliner and claim that no one understands you, but you can wear too much Clinique product and boast about how you get up at 5:00 every morning to jog and do laundry (note: you'll have to set about five alarms and you'll probably spend an hour laughing at cat gifs on Tumblr. Nobody can know this).

It's fun, you'll say. I can watch the sunrise.

Mature people genuinely enjoy sunrises. Remember that. Extra points if you can make it a metaphor for something meaningful in life. 

Suffering means that you're doing adulthood right. Fun is so last year. All your video games, cartoons, stuffed animals, and glitter, just throw 'em out the window. Say you have no time for such frivolous activities because you just worked a sixty-hour week.

If people aren't taking you seriously as an adult, dye your hair brown and wear glasses all the time. This applies for people with jobs, breasts, and love for makeup that doesn't resemble your natural face.

No more makeup that doesn't resemble your natural face. Colors are for children.

However, if you're a freshman in college, this is your chance to show how much of an individual you are. You're just so...unique. This is the only exception. Sophomore year, you must go back to glasses and solid colored shirts. But freshman year, show how you unique you are by wearing earrings that get caught in your hair and pants that anyone could spot from a mile away.

Talk about how into politics and the news you are, while you actually get most of your political information from Facebook and the Daily show.

Young adult books aren't actually books--they don't count. Only books by dead white guys count. Is that a John Green book I see you carrying? Stop. Just stop.

Whenever you go home for break, pretend you don't have a curfew and that you know as much, if not more, as your parents.

If life seems to throw responsibility in your face, 1) talk about how many obligations you have, and 2) run away to an ashram in Colorado to avoid those obligations.

You are just so serious. Like, seriously, life is so deep and meaningful now. Make sure you get through a dinner party (the ultimate sign of grownup-ness) without laughing--laughter is a sign of weakness. It is your duty as an adult.

Stop laughing at the fact that I just said duty. Secretly think that word is hilarious.

If you do end up making an ass of yourself, claim that it's because you're so secure with your maturity that you intentionally made a statement about how goofy is the new serious. Because this will end up on the internet:

Namaste.