In 2019, as a lifestyle editor for the Brown and White, Emily Segal ’21 penned an editorial contemplating her future as she stood on the precipice of her 21st birthday.
We checked in with her five years later — and one year after graduating from Georgetown Law School — to see how her life had changed since then.
I’ve been 26 for three months now.
It sounds old to me, especially since, for some reason, my impulse is to say “21” when people ask my age.
I do feel old when I say things like, “I blinked and five years went by!” Or, even worse, “Time flies!” But it’s true.
One day, I’m relaxing in a college dorm twin bed, planning a week's worth of Halloween and Le-Laf costumes. The next, I’m second-guessing if I locked my apartment, sitting in a conference room swivel chair, and am responsible for keeping a cat alive (one I impulsively, but not regretfully, adopted this past fall).
So, is 26 what I expected? Yes and no.
I’m most certainly an adult. I passed the bar this summer and have worked at a law firm for a few months now. I pay rent and brew coffee and I even read non-fiction for fun (sometimes). On the other hand, when I tie my coat closed, board the ACE uptown, and step into the office elevator, I feel like an actor.
Taking it day by day helps.
When I came to Lehigh, I was uncertain where I’d land. I did know I liked to write. I majored in journalism and came to see it as a path to law.
In law school, as in undergrad, many people seemed to know exactly what they wanted (and could articulate in CREAC-structured arguments why their predictions would come true). Some actually did and spoke their realities into existence, going on to federal clerkships, antitrust specialties, or public defender roles.
I assumed I’d be a litigator. After all, journalists write articles; litigators write briefs. Journalists interview; litigators depose, cross-examine. Right? Sure, but wrong.
It took a year of law school and one internship at the courthouse to discover that litigation was not for me, that my career and academics did not relate as planned. I felt a familiar sense of panic set in.
What now? What do I want to be?
I was not alone in this riddle. My colleagues swerved from litigation to corporate practices, environmental law to human rights, NYC to D.C. Some went into business instead. I won’t bore anyone with the story of how I decided on real estate law — though I will say I have been happy with my choice thus far. But in coming to that decision, beginning the career that has followed, and replacing classrooms with offices, office hours with check-ins, homework with after-hours work, I’m still being challenged, discovering my likes, dislikes, and growing as a professional and person.
I read the article I wrote at 20 years old to my roommate this evening. We had both finished our respective work days, hung up our coats, and settled onto the couch.
While she got out her “craft box” filled with collage supplies, tape, and stickers and turned on reality TV, we laughed. We’ve aged, and everything has changed, but really, it hasn’t at all.
As kids, we think we will be different people in our 20s. And at 21, we think 26 will feel so distinct, so new. While in some ways this is true, we don’t wake up and suddenly “feel our age.”
I still crave Sour Patch, feel way too proud when I pump my own gas, and have an irrational fear of tsunamis at the Jersey Shore.
Many of my friends share this Peter Pan perception, perhaps a result of mismatched expectations and reality. But what we also share is the realization that we’ve grown, and not by leaving our old selves behind or cutting ties with uncertainty and confusion.
I’ve grown by learning, whether about the law, other people, or myself. And while I’m most certainly an adult, I’m not sure who among us is grown up.
Catch you in five years, Lehigh — bet I’ll still feel 21.
