As my t-shirt affirms, “I was born in the 90s” – 1994 to be exact, which means that I am twenty-two years old. While so many qualities about us are subjective based on the impressions we give off, our age is a fixed personal trait that just isn’t up for debate. No matter how hard we try to defy this reality, we can’t change time. The clock can’t be sped up, as “fast-forward” isn’t an option, nor can it be slowed down; the fountain of youth that we pray will drench us forever is bound to drain eventually.

Now, I know you’re probably thinking to yourself, “Who is this kid to tell us about aging? He just broke into his early twenties. What does he know about growing older?” It’s true – I’m fairly new to the world of adulthood. But, living between New York and LA, I’ve firsthand witnessed and experienced the undeniable impact that our age can have on so many aspects of life.

Whether at a job interview for a marketing position or at a bar for a glass of wine, there have been countless occasions where I haven’t been taken seriously simply because I’m the youngest person in the room – where I’ve been looked down upon, questioned, and coddled too, time and time again by potential employers and bartenders alike. But I have reached a point in my life where I have no choice but to participate in the same social contexts as people older than me. And as a result, it seems as though I have to work harder to assert my presence to be acknowledged around the 30+ year olds around me.

On the other side of the spectrum, though, I have become more than used to seeing adults older than me in their 40’s, 50’s, and beyond working tirelessly to come across younger than they truly are. On one side of the coast, we’ve got New York’s resident fashion boys almost pushing 50 who just recently finished gallivanting across the city for Fashion Week, desperately trying to relive their young adult years atop the Standard Hotel at Boom Boom Room. And on the other side of the country in glamorous Los Angeles, we mustn’t forget our “ladies who lunch” who have probably consumed as much tuna tartar at Spago as they have Botox in the creases of their skin. Those attempts to come across younger are merely superficial; underneath the facial filler and vanity, our true ages are still in tact.

Not to be pessimistic – that’s not the kind of person I am at all; but the reason I speak from such a blunt perspective is because I too constantly feel caught in the age-obsessed world we live in that pressures us to conform to ageist standards. In our contemporary culture, we – myself included – often feel like we’re too young or too old, like we never hit the mark just right at the point in our lives that we’re at in comparison to the people around us.

While there’s realistically nothing we can do to truly change our age beneath the surface, I’m not suggesting that we millenials should complacently sit and allow those older than we are to view us as immature; there is nothing wrong with asserting our evolving maturity, even as young adults. And in regards to my more mature, seasoned adults out there, in my eyes, aging is not the same as growing old; it’s all in the way we look at it. What I do think ages adults dramatically is when they aggressively try to defy the progression of time, to turn back the clock to feel younger by parading around like teenagers numb in the face. Perhaps we must try and achieve a balance between these two extremes: a middle ground in which we uphold the timeless nature of our spirits while also accepting the inevitable points in our lives that we’ve reached, where we can praise how far we’ve come through the years and proudly refer to the cracks in our skin as “laughter lines” instead of “wrinkles.”

I admit, I too must remind myself to relish this stage in my life and embrace the reality that I am undeniably younger than many people; I have years and years ahead of me to be taken seriously as an experienced “adult.” After all, I stopped using a fake ID just a little over a year ago. Nevertheless, I’m certainly not a naïve “child” anymore either – a misconception that might prompt others to treat me as their inferior, simply for being younger than they are. I realize, however, that those older than I am do in fact have a leg up on me because of the abundance of experiences, knowledge, and wisdom they have under their belts. Age, therefore, shouldn’t necessarily be assessed by the elasticity of our skin or the crows’ feet beside our eyes. Aging transcends what we see in the mirror and serves as a vivid indicator of all that we’ve accomplished and endured in our lives so far.

Right now, my peers and I are toasting to fresh college degrees and exciting new job opportunities. In about a decade, we’ll probably be celebrating our engagements and marriages. And a few years after that, we may even witness our own children doing the same things we did when we were their age, as we then long to be in their shoes once again – and the cycle continues. Until then, I look up to those older than me who have gone through much more than I have at this point. But truth be told, the adults I choose to look up to are those who embrace their age rather than those who strive to defy or conceal that number.

What I’m trying to convey here is that age is not “just a number,” as the cliché goes – and that’s completely alright. In fact, our age is a very significant number that helps us gage where we honestly fit-in in this world – a number that we shouldn’t challenge or be ashamed of, but that we should respect and be proud of. Regardless of whether or not you were born in the 90s, (with or without a t-shirt to prove it), our age is a definite component of our being, innately characteristic to our identities and our experiences. The solid, unwavering nature of age itself might even urge us to become more in touch with our sense of self, to understand the time and space in which we exist. With that in mind, perhaps our inability to turn back the clock or jump forward in time beholds an authentic beauty in itself. Perhaps this reality, that we have no choice but to live in this moment, makes it all the more sensible to honor where we are in the timeline of our lives. Simply put, maybe a reason we can’t change our age is because we shouldn’t.

In theory, the concept of summer is like a bottomless mimosa special. Like the season itself, the cocktail boasts the perfect blend of sweet and savory, sparkling and smooth. With each sip and every cork popped off the bottle, we feel as though our bottomless mimosas will last forever – numbing us into a fantasy of never ending refills that keep on pouring until the end of time, as we’re sent off into a sun-kissed daze of oblivion. Yet, soon enough, the refills end, and the bottom of the glass finally becomes visible. The cocktail special inevitably fizzles to a finish – and, ultimately, so does summer.

In the heat of the moment, we never thought about what’s to follow after the refills: In the coming weeks, the sunny shades of orange of our clinking glasses will soon be replaced by the amber of the leaves that fall from the sky. The flaming sunsets that we gazed at all throughout happy hour will soon transition to fireplaces we cozy near with our porcelain mugs. But until then, we can enjoy our almond skin until it fades back to its natural shade, we can sift through our Polaroids that were once covered in sand, and we can savor those last drops of bittersweet orange juice that linger on our tongues as the season finally reaches its close for the year.

This year, it was the season of many things: it was the summer of blazing beach days and sparkling rooftops, the summer of morning hikes and midnight drives with the top down, the summer of stirring romances and cheap thrills, the summer of fresh discoveries and raw confessions, the summer of ambition, the summer of dance, the summer of love, the summer of adventure, and the summer of memories of a time that we’ll never get back, but that will come again in new shape, form, and flavor – just like we do as the time passes.

As we take our final sips of the season, we finally realize that all good things must come to an end. Whether happy hour, friendships, relationships, or the seasons themselves, some changes and conclusions are inescapable. Yet, at the same time, we must remember that life is cyclical; there will be more good things to come again, to toast and look forward to. Whether a fizzy mimosa on a breezy rooftop or hot cocoa beside a fireplace, there will always be another glass to raise, no matter the beverage.

Of course, summer, you will be missed. But as we prepare to welcome the new season, as we layer up and immerse ourselves in all that is autumn, and as we almost forget how a mimosa, (or a few), should taste, summer will approach us soon enough, once again, in all its infinite, bubbling glory.

Le Bain at The Standard, High Line – 848 Washington St, New York, NY 10014

Some things in life are inevitable, and Monday is one of those things. A day seemingly as bitter as the countless shots of espresso we drink to make it through, “Monday” has become synonymous with endless meetings, tedious tasks, and tiring errands. By this early point in the week already, stress is high and morale is low. Whether because the weekend is officially over, or because the rest of the week dauntingly awaits us, Monday is the day that we have learned to loathe.

In the midst of all that madness that is Monday, we typically end up feeling worn out, anxious, and even broken into pieces. But if we do to Monday what Monday does to us and break Monday itself apart, a glimmer of optimism shines through its cracks.

Break the word “MONDAY” in half, and we are left with “MON” and “DAY.” Based on the meager bit of French I remember from my time studying in Paris, I know that “mon” in French translates to “my” in English. If we keep this in mind and apply this translation to the word’s broken form, “Mon-day” translates to “my day.”

Ironically enough, from this point of view, our least favorite day that seems to consume us, becomes our very own. When we open our eyes and look at the word in fragments from a changed perspective, we are presented with the empowering opportunity to take ownership of our week and seize the day with confidence.

In this case, therefore, we can take note from our translation of “Monday.” Perhaps we too must feel broken in half and even shattered until we can discover the optimism, strength, power, and potential that we innately possess, that lies at our core.

So, friends, Happy Monday. I hope your espresso tastes sweeter than usual, and that today’s tasks don’t wear you down too hard. Because, as it seems, it’s a fresh week and a new day – and no matter where this day takes you, it’s yours.

Four years ago when I enrolled at NYU, people would always reluctantly tell me, “Are you sure you want to go there? NYU is such a big school. You’ll be such a small fish in a big sea…” And to be honest, at the start of my undergraduate career, they were right. I agreed with these people; I felt lost and shy in the overwhelming sea that is New York City – suddenly thrown into the deep-end with no choice but to swim aimlessly until I find my way. Initially, I was just a helpless little freshman whirling my way through my new life, hoping to make it through successfully without being eaten by sharks. And even though I took the plunge and made the move across the country, I was still terrified once I got there.

Now, however, I’ve just graduated proudly from NYU at Yankee Stadium with a bachelor’s degree and a one-way ticket to the real world. I no longer feel like the small, timid fish who just began to grow into his fins four years ago. Yesterday at the ceremony, I looked around me to my classmates, and rather than thousands of little fish, a triumphant sea of vivid violet washed over Yankee Stadium. Graduation caps soared in the air as woven tassels swayed in countless directions, collectively creating what looked like a rushing tide of purple waves, confidently crashing. At that moment, as we all basked in this whirlwind of a celebration, we were no longer students forced to navigate through NYU’s unpredictable waters. We were the helpless “little fish,” no longer. Together we joined, and became the “big sea.”

As the graduating class of 2016, we came together and seized our momentous accomplishment. In doing so, we shed the juvenile scales that marked our roles as the once helpless little fish, just learning how to breathe under water. Four years later, I can speak on behalf of my fellow graduates that we have swam far enough, long enough, and deep enough to not only become acquainted with the rush of the tide, but to become one with it.

As I reflect upon my time at NYU, now as an alumnus, I think about all of the remarkable experiences I have had – the celebrations, the heartbreaks, the discoveries, and the triumphs, and all of the eclectic, inspiring people I have met – from intelligent professors to intimidating bosses, and from genuine friends to eye-opening acquaintances, who all come from a variety of distinct backgrounds and beliefs. Now, I feel as though I see the world through a new lens with multiple dimensions – a point of view I was not exposed to before turning the page to this wondrous, crazy chapter. I have discovered my authentic self with confidence and pride, and as a result, I continuously strive to open my eyes to adopt a more embracing perspective on life.

As a result of all this, I have a response for those people who were afraid for me to dive into the scary deep-end that is New York City, who warned me of the potential dangers of exploring an unfamiliar realm far beyond my comfort zone:

Fear was the best emotion I experienced during my college life – because as it seems, from fear and initial hesitation arises the potential for ultimate courage and growth. But if we don’t move past that initial fear, close our eyes, and dive with faith, we’ll never know what possibilities await us in the new unknown. When becoming acquainted with frighteningly new environments, we face obstacles that make us feel like we just might drown. Yet, if we let go of what we cannot control, ride with the wave, and embrace our circumstances, allowing the wind to guide us and blow in the direction in which it’s meant to, life can unexpectedly lead us to people, places, situations, emotions, thoughts, discoveries, and truths that we never set out to find, but that we are meant to encounter.

Lastly, I’ve learned that no matter where the tide may turn, we must be grateful – grateful for our gains and for our losses, for our triumphs and for our failures, for the lessons learned along the way, and especially for our fears – because without our fears, we would have nothing to conquer.

So on that note, thank you: Thank you to all those who feared for me, who warned me, who almost made me reconsider moving to the wonderfully terrifying city of New York four years ago. Because of you, I have come out the other side stronger, more resilient, and more empowered than before. And to those who have supported me and encouraged my move to NYU all along, to vigorously chase after my dreams no matter how farfetched or unlikely they may be – thank you. I am truly humbled by your confidence and faith in me.

Because now, as I cross the threshold into the “real” world – past NYU’s once daunting, now comforting streets, I’d be lying if I said I’m not afraid. Of course I’m afraid. But as I prepare to embark on my next journey in life, I reflect upon the one most valuable lesson I learned in college: if it weren’t for my experience as a little fish, I would have never become the sea.