Nobody understands anyone 18, including those who are 18.

Jim Bishop once wrote with piercing honesty: “Nobody understands anyone 18, including those who are 18.” In this saying we glimpse the mystery of that threshold age, perched precariously between childhood and adulthood, when the soul is aflame with desire yet clouded with uncertainty. To be eighteen is to dwell in a twilight state: the world expects you to be grown, yet your heart still beats with the raw turbulence of youth. It is a moment of freedom and fear, of ambition and confusion, when one longs for independence yet still stumbles in self-discovery.

The ancients, though they did not measure years as we do, knew well this season of the spirit. The Greeks spoke of the ephebe, the young man on the cusp of citizenship, who trained for war and civic duty yet had not mastered the wisdom of life. He was neither boy nor man, caught in a space where identity trembles like a flame in the wind. Bishop’s words remind us that this trembling is universal—that the age of 18 has always been a riddle, even to those who live within it.

Consider the tale of Alexander the Great. At the age of 18, he led the Macedonian cavalry at the Battle of Chaeronea, striking fear into seasoned warriors. To the world, he seemed already formed, a conqueror in the making. Yet history tells us that within, he was still restless, still wrestling with the passions of youth, still uncertain of the full scope of his destiny. His greatness lay ahead, but at 18 he was a paradox—capable of astonishing deeds, yet still searching for the man he would become.

And so it is with all who reach that age. The eighteen-year-old carries within them the weight of dreams, yet lacks the compass to steer them. They rebel against authority, yet secretly long for guidance. They proclaim certainty with their lips, but in the silence of the heart, questions roar louder than answers. It is not that they are foolish, but that they stand at the crossroads of becoming, where the roads branch in a thousand directions and the map is written only in fog.

Bishop’s saying is not meant to mock, but to offer compassion. If even those who are 18 cannot fully understand themselves, how can others presume to judge them harshly? Parents and elders must learn patience, remembering that the storms of this age are not signs of failure but signs of growth. And the young themselves must not despair if they feel lost, for being lost is the very mark of that sacred passage into adulthood.

The lesson, then, is clear: uncertainty is the companion of eighteen. It is not a curse but a rite of passage, shaping resilience and humility. To those who guide the young, offer wisdom without tyranny, and love without condition. To those who are young, embrace the chaos of your feelings, for in the wrestling with self, the true self is born. And to all, remember that the confusion of youth is not permanent; it is the seedbed of wisdom, watered by experience and time.

Practical counsel may be offered. To parents: listen more than you lecture, for the 18-year-old does not need another judge but a steady anchor. To the young: write your thoughts, share your fears, and take courage in small steps, for clarity comes not at once but through the journey. To society: give space for the young to stumble, for stumbling is the teacher of strength.

Thus Bishop’s words endure as a reminder: “Nobody understands anyone 18, including those who are 18.” It is not understanding that marks that age, but becoming. It is not certainty that crowns those years, but searching. And in the end, it is this very mystery, this storm of not-knowing, that prepares the soul for the calm and wisdom of the years to come.