I was in the back of my mom's car looking out the window. A part of the highway was a bridge, under which there was another stretch of highway. I thought to myself, those people are going forward, and I am going forward, but we aren't going the same direction.

Later, they might be on this road, going forward, in a direction that previously would have been the wrong way.

At the time, any of my arguments was trumped by an adult saying that I would understand when I grew up. I don't know why adults tried this line on me again and again, it infuriated me.
They were telling me that my opinions and experience had zero relevance, that my identity would be discarded for the taller version of me, a version of me that agreed with them in all things.

There in the back of the car, it occurred to me that if the future version of me would shake her head thinking of me now, what might I think of her? What if I could remember things that would happen ten years into the future, and I thought that older me was being an idiot, what if I shook my head at her like she shook her head at me, who would be right?

I was more terrified for her than I was for myself. I wanted to grow up and get better, grow forward, not meander these highways aimlessly until the car breaks down. What would that little girl I can hardly remember say about the way I'm living my life today?