What does it mean to be a "grown-up"? When I was eleven I thought it meant being like Mia Thermopolis in "Princess Diaries," living in your own floor-sized room with a cat and a laptop computer. Little did I realize that she was only fifteen years old, and by the time I reached fifteen, I believed that once I reached eighteen and went off to college, I would really be a grown-up. Your adulthood must grow as you progressed through school, which meant it began freshman year and continued up until one graduated from law school or grad school. That myth was quickly tossed out when March of my senior year rolled around and found me watching "Tangled" and coloring pictures with one of my friends who was a year into law school.
Well, if it's not linked to age, I thought, it must be linked to occupation. But that doesn't really mean anything either. My Doctor Uncle Kevin is a prime example: he's worked his way up through grad school and has finally become a doctor with his own practice (he's a psychologist for young kids and uses "play therapy" - meaning video games and our family board game - to reach through the walls that those young souls have already built up), but some of our best conversations start out with, "Remember that Bugs Bunny episode when...." I love him dearly for it: he maintains his level of childlike wonder even though he's well-learned and, by the world's standards, a grown-up.
As I get older and deeper into the world of "adulthood" based solely on my age, I'm finding that there's no real point where you turn the corner and flip the switch off in the section of your brain that was reserved for pretending and running around outside catching fireflies. It must be a state-of-mind, rather than a milestone like riding your bike for the first time or losing your first tooth. Maybe being an adult in age and practice isn't linked to being "grown-up" in your mind. The story goes that, when I was born and could fit in one of my dad's big hands, he whispered to me, "Don't grow up, baby." And while he hasn't been able to stop me from getting taller and graduating first high school and then college and moving out and getting married and having my own babies that I implore not to grow up, he's taught us to keep that wide-eyed wonder for the world around us, to embrace new experiences with a sense of excitement rather than apprehension and heavy sighs.
Maybe that's the grand secret. You have no choice but to go through life and take what it throws at you and learn from the mistakes you make and enjoy the highs that you are blessed with. But rather than being jaded and bitter about the times when you fell down, you take it in stride and get back on your feet with a smile, because you know you'll be smarter the next time. It's the same as jumping off the swing set and realizing that it's better to land on your feet than your face and getting back on the swing to try it again.
Right now being a grown-up means going to work and coming home to get on Pinterest and watch the Looney Tunes episodes that I've recorded because I can't stand to watch another football game. (I never realized until I moved back home that there is no end to football in my house: if it's not a game, then it's listening to people talk about football...dear God, is there no end to this awful season?) If you've been keeping up with my blog posts over the last few months, you'll agree that my version of grown-up does not have all the answers. My kinda-aunt asked me the other day what I'm going to do now that I have my teaching license, and I told her that I have not one single clue. But that's, as I've been told, the exciting part: I have all opportunities in front of me, the chance to do anything.
And that, perhaps, is the best thing about being "grown-up."
No comments:
Post a Comment