My sisters, their friends and I were talking about how old their birthday was making me feel.
“Well, you are, like, old, you know?”

A part of me just died.

But I see what they’re getting at. When I was in high school and my friends’ older siblings were my age, we called them grandparents and then called them for booze. I totally can remember when I thought 22 was old.

That same day, while contemplating an AARP membership, mere miles from home, a horrific clunking noise erupted from the hood of my car.

And as the minor repair bill grew from the remainder of my student refund check to $1,200, any sense of maturity I was feeling shrunk, shriveled and died.

This was hardly something I could cover myself. How can I possibly be ready for adulthood if I can’t afford to maintain my own lifestyle? A question I’m sure has long plagued my parents. But nonetheless, enter dad to save the day.

Feeling ancient and yet dramatically ill-equipped for life, I borrowed my mom’s car and headed to Beggar’s Banquet to meet some high school friends I hadn’t seen in forever.

Nurses, professional athletes, future dentists and music industry interns now make up my friend base. It won’t be long before dentures, retirement plans and adult diapers become points of discussion.

So which is it? Am I a crypt keeper or a baby bird? I think the reality is that for most of us, the score’s all tied up.

My aunt once told me she doesn’t think of herself differently than when she was young. She’s still the same person, just with a law practice, three kids and a mortgage.

It sounds weird, but I never really thought of it that way. Being an adult always just seemed so far off in the distance. When I’d imagine being grown up, I pictured a completely different person playing the title role.

But now it’s imminent. I think about graduating in December, and I fluctuate between feeling elated and flat-out terrified. I kind of want to be a server and a student forever — I know how to do that. Real world-type stuff? My bachelor’s degree will be in journalism, not filing tax returns.

Although, I am pretty pumped that the days I have to log into ANGEL are numbered; and it’s exciting to think about making money instead of making tips.

I guess it’s misguided that I’ve been expecting some switch to go off. A Facebook notification that flashes across my friends’ news feeds: “Abby Wood is now an official adult.”

Perhaps adulthood is best equated to a spectrum. Acquiring a certain number of birthdays doesn’t make you a hard-and-fast adult. Sure, it means you can vote or buy alcohol, but there’s a multitude of other components.

Maybe we should embrace this series of advances and regressions. Just because your mom frequently talks you out of a nervous breakdown doesn’t strip you of all maturity, nor does landing a 9-to-5 job ensure future success.

Age is quantifiable, but adulthood is a qualitative state without prescribed standards.

The new right fielder for the Washington Nationals is a 19-year-old, Dakota Fanning’s in college at NYU and all the while Madonna is still dancing around half-naked at 54.

So what makes you an adult versus a kid? The amount of cash you have or the behavior you display? The sureness with which you pursue a career path?

Martha Stewart left her career as a stockbroker and became a caterer. Granted, she later continued to dabble in the stock market, but you’ve got to imagine that people judged her jump from Wall Street to the service industry as not very “adult” — turns out it was.

The former mayor of Cincinnati ended up hosting “The Jerry Springer Show.” Did the switch from contributing to society to polluting it revoke his adult status?

Maybe we shouldn’t spend as much time focusing on achieving the societal norms of adulthood and refocus on the path we take to getting there, making sure it’s something we’re content with.

Our early 20s aren’t easy. They’re emotional and filled with growing pains, physically and mentally draining and rife with mistakes and fast-paced change.

Overwhelming? No doubt. But it’s also kind of exciting when you think about it. So much new still lies in front of us, so many possibilities.

Maybe the goal shouldn’t be becoming an adult, but becoming people capable of giving advice to their nieces or comforting their kid because they’ve been there.

Maybe the first step is choosing to relish the infinite possibility before us. Risk the screwups and take comfort in knowing we’ve still got plenty of time to change directions.

Abby Wood is a guest columnist at The State News and a journalism senior. Reach her at woodabby@msu.edu.