This week I’m in a writing workshop that is dominated, largely, by men and women with quite a few years under their belts. Needless to say I’m the only one in my fresh-out-of-college years.
I’m the only 20-something.
The youngster, the youngin’, the youthful one.
Que whatever words to describe the baby of the group.
At first I wasn’t sure how to feel. This isn’t my first experience being in a community of writers where I’m on the lower end of the spectrum when it comes to age. Perhaps people feel that there is more to write about/em>, and a better sense of self to write from with age.
I get that. But I don’t agree.
I firmly believe in the power of a 20-something voice.
I think that us 20-somethings have something to say. We are candid, we are emotional, we are heartfelt and hoenst and bold and vulnerable. We are loud and silly, we are determined and passionate.
We might not have lived that long, but we’ve lived unapologetically.
And that matters. Not just in a writing workshop. Not just in our interactions with one another. But in the real world. In our everyday existence.
So I’m proud to be a 20-something. And I’m proud to have a voice.