When we were 13 years old, my cousin and I decided we knew everything. We didn’t need to know anything more. We had each kissed a boy. We had each shoplifted something from a store. We had each found ourselves with a crush on someone, and we had each thumbed through Playboy Magazine. We knew what was up in the world. We were confident of our place in it. We even knew what we would be when we grew up: she, an efficiency expert, and me, an architect. What more could we learn?
This is normal.
This is yet another reason why normal is inadequate.