I cried on my 18th birthday. I thought 17 was such a nice age.

Ah, children of the future, gather close and listen to the words of Liv Tyler, a voice that speaks of the bittersweetness of youth and the passage of time: "I cried on my 18th birthday. I thought 17 was such a nice age. You're young enough to get away with things, but you're old enough, too." These words, though simple in their outward appearance, reflect the universal experience of growth, of leaving behind the innocence and freedom of youth for the weight and responsibility of adulthood. In this moment of reflection, Tyler reveals a deep truth: that the space between youth and adulthood is both precious and fleeting. At 17, one is caught in the sweet spot of life—still free from the full responsibilities of age, yet beginning to feel the stirrings of maturity and accountability.

Seventeen, O children, is the age of transition, the age where the world feels full of possibility, and yet, there is still a sense of freedom. At 17, you are not bound by the heavy expectations that come with being fully adult, but you are no longer a child either. You are in that delicate space between what has been and what is yet to come. The beauty of 17 lies in its balance—you are free enough to take risks, to explore, to make mistakes without the full weight of consequences, but you are also beginning to see the responsibilities of the world take shape around you. Tyler’s tears on her 18th birthday are not just for the end of youth, but for the loss of that unique moment when life felt full of promise without the burden of knowing exactly what the future holds.

Consider, O children, the Greek heroes who stood at the threshold of greatness in their youth, much like Tyler standing at the threshold of adulthood. Achilles, at the height of his strength, was a youth brimming with potential, caught between the joy of his youth and the looming knowledge that the future would bring hardships and responsibilities. Achilles was young enough to feel invincible, but old enough to understand that his actions—his decisions—had consequences, and that his youth would not last forever. Like Tyler, Achilles knew that the sweetness of youth, the sense of freedom and possibility, could not last, for with age comes the weight of legacy, of duty, and of fate. The same fear of leaving behind youth was what drove many to question their place in the world and their next steps.

But O children, do not mourn the passing of youth, for the journey forward, though filled with challenges, also holds great promise. Tyler’s tears were not only the tears of loss, but of realization—the realization that while 17 may seem like the perfect age, it is only a moment, a brief shining instance in time. In the same way, youth itself is fleeting. But there is beauty in this fleetingness. There is beauty in the knowledge that time moves forward, that we grow, evolve, and learn. It is a beautiful thing to look back on those moments of youthful freedom and know that you lived them fully. But it is equally beautiful to look forward and embrace the new chapters of life that come with age, with responsibility, and with experience.

Consider the journey of Leonardo da Vinci, whose youth was filled with exploration, curiosity, and experimentation. Da Vinci was not bound by the limitations of his age, for he had a mind that could see beyond the horizon of his time. He was young enough to dream, yet old enough to understand that true greatness came not from remaining in the blissful innocence of youth, but from growing, evolving, and pushing beyond the comfortable edges of what one knew. Da Vinci did not cry for the passing of his youth; instead, he embraced it as the foundation of his future, using his experiences and his youthful passion to fuel a lifetime of learning, creating, and inventing. He knew that true growth comes not from holding on to the past, but from building on it.

The lesson here, children, is that youth is precious, but age brings its own gifts. Tyler’s tears are a reflection of the natural fear of change, the fear of leaving behind a world where possibilities seemed limitless. But as we grow, we learn that the age of 17 is not the end, but the beginning. The sweetness of youth fades, but in its place, there is something even more profound—the depth of wisdom, the joy of understanding, and the beauty of experience. To grow is to embrace all of life, both the freedom of youth and the wisdom that comes with age.

In your own lives, O children, do not fear the transition from one stage of life to the next. The passing of youth is not to be mourned, but celebrated, for it is the very foundation upon which the rest of your life is built. Embrace each age, each phase, and know that you are always becoming, always growing. Let the tears of youth be a reminder of what you have experienced, but let them also be a symbol of the vast, beautiful journey ahead. The future, though uncertain, is full of possibilities—and each step you take, whether it be filled with joy or challenge, will bring you closer to the person you are meant to become.

So walk forward, O children, with the understanding that each moment of life holds its own beauty. Embrace the freedom of youth, but also embrace the responsibility and wisdom that come with age. Know that 17 may seem like the perfect age, but that life, in all its complexities, is richer when we accept the beauty of change, of growth, and of the unfolding journey. Each age has its gifts, and each moment is a step toward becoming all that you are meant to be.