There’s something underwhelming about turning eighteen. Maybe it's the fact that we build it up in our heads, unknowing that reality can never hope to beat expectations. Maybe it’s the fact that turning eighteen has no real power nowadays. Sure, you can vote, get your driver's license, and be labelled an adult. Everyone's doing that. Something about turning eighteen demands independence but we're no less dependent than we were on the last day we were seventeen.

There's no magical switch that turns from infant-like dependence to full independence. Often, not even a gradual change can accurately describe this shift to adulthood. It seems more akin to tectonic plates shifting, towards each other and away, until there's a sudden slip and an earthquake shatters your world and reverberates through time with unexpected aftershocks. One may not be able to rest easy though; earthquakes in the transition to adulthood are frequent.

A lot of the time after turning eighteen is spent trying to find our place in the world. This may not be a conscious decision; many of us cannot afford active identity exploration. But the questions still remain: who am I? Where do I belong? What do I want? Perhaps, this sound familiar from similar identity crises in adolescence.

The reality of today is that turning eighteen can feel more like a continuation of adolescence rather than taking a rocket shooting across time to adulthood. Your early twenties may not be any different from this subjective reality. You may feel even more aimless during this time than you did at seventeen. It may even feel ironically similar to your younger years when you learned how to take your first steps. Discovering who you are in your early twenties can feel a lot like when you learned to physically navigate the world as a child. It definitely has a learning curve.

To navigate this period of “prolonged adolescence” as the famous psychologist, Erik Erikson, called it, one must remember that we’re not starting from scratch. The foundations of our identities have already been built. While they may seem like black paint on a white canvas thereby not easily manipulated, they can still be built upon in further detail and in more color.

Cracks in the painted canvas of one’s identity can be watered, primed, and repainted, or even embellished. There’s no shame in embellishment that strengthens oneself; it can be a source of power to have an identity that one cherishes. Exploring our identities and working on ourselves may be a journey of struggle, a brutal one at that, but there is still something fascinating about discovering the intricacies of one’s self.

We are creatures of the self if nothing else.