This morning while drinking strong green tea and trying to shake off the last bit of this miserable flu I’ve had, I happen to check out a blog that one of my friends from childhood is authoring… The part that struck me was where she had pictures of her friends and their homes, one of which I knew from when we were little. I looked at this grown up woman in her nice house, obviously planned for photographing, but still, a very together looking lifestyle and I thought “This is a grown up woman!!!”
I don’t know if anyone else feels like this, or everyone else feels like this, but I don’t hardly feel like an adult at all. Definitely a bit more adult than actual child, but the current that runs through me, the dismay, exhilaration and constant figuring at what the world offers is not what I would possibly imagine a grown up to feel.
At times I’ve wondered if it isn’t partly because I started so young, having a baby at eighteen and going “full grownup” in such a one-eighty degree sort of way. It left me this feeling somewhat like I didn’t have to actually fully commit to adulthood. As long as I was doing a good job at being a mother, or at least the best I could, and everybody was well looked after, why did I have to sign myself off to a finished product, end of the road adult, fully grown up until the day I die.
I look at my life and I see bills being paid, cars being driven to and from basketball practice for my twelve-year-old son, phone calls made to plumbers and decisions about when and whether to get the cats fixed… This is certainly not child’s play.
I look at my friends around me, some with kids some without. Do they seem like grownups? It’s so hard to tell. In most ways no. Usually I see people struggling to figure it out, make the stitches meet up and the seams straight. From a distance I see adults, people who have crossed that line and crossed the Ts needed to be stamped “Full Grownup”.
Any thoughts here anyone??? This truly is a question that runs in and out of my days, and I wonder about your opinions.