We can all agree that summer took its time getting here this year, but now that June is in full swing, it sure seems time to pack up and put away all those heavy winter clothes. Combine that with overdue spring cleaning, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who’s dug through my closet in the last couple of weeks.

It’s not exactly a usual chore – I’m pretty sure it’s been a year since the last time I saw the back wall.

But the clothing has been sorted through, various piled up papers and trash have been unearthed from where they were beginning to fossilize, and the winter coats and long underwear are tucked out of sight for another six months. Hooray.

During the process, I found a raincoat hung up against the wall, and figured it couldn’t hurt to try it on.

It turned out to miss my wrists by a good 6 inches.

The raincoat wasn’t the only piece of outgrown clothing that turned up. Too tight in the shoulders, too small for my knees, too far off the ground. Pretty typical occurrence, right?

Except … huh. I think the last time I had to cycle more than three pieces of outgrown cloth- ing out of my wardrobe was at least six months ago, and I definitely haven’t gotten much taller since.

It’s a little bit scary and very weird to realize that I’m probably done growing. Like, this is it? No more unexpectedly bumping into cabinet doors that were higher than that only a week ago? No more absently pulling on a pair of shoes only to run out of shoe before I run out of foot? No more getting scolded by my mother for wearing pants halfway up my shins out in public? Well, I make no promises on that last one. (What? They’re comfortable!)

Sometimes it really is the little things that make you realize how much you’ve grown. Pun intended.

Although what sticks out most is really a “now what?”

I’ve hit my full height, probably. Maybe. (I kind of hope not. Being taller sounds cool.) I’ve got a whole year of high school left. But I’ve still got a long way to go before most people could agree that I’m an adult.

Wait, I take that back. I’ve still got a long way to go before most adults could agree that I’m an adult. Anyone in elementary school might consider me an adult. My 7-year-old self definitely would.

Which is another odd thing to consider. I’ve caught myself mentally and actually rolling my eyes and scoffing at freshmen, even though I remember being in ninth grade myself and highly offended at the way I was treated. I still have to work not to patronize any younger kids I interact with, despite vivid memories of how much I hated being on the receiving end of well-meaning but clueless adults. Honestly, I’m afraid that it’s all just one big downward slide from here until I’m the one griping about “kids these days.”

But I suppose all I can do is try to remember being 7, or 14 or someday being 16.

No matter how many times I clean out my closet.

— Nina Collay is a junior at Thornton Academy who can frequently be found listening to music, reading, wrestling with a heavy cello case, or poking at the keyboard of an uncooperative laptop.