Grown Up

I love being an adult. Some people like to moon over the golden, worry-free playgrounds of days gone by, but not me. I always chafed under the constraints of childhood; I didn’t have a problem with authority, I was just stubborn and liked to do what I liked to do. When my parents—as parents everywhere—would say “you can do whatever you want when you’re grown up, but for now you’ll follow my rules” I remember burning with resentment at their unreasonable demands to clean my room or share with my sister and thinking “I can’t wait, you’ll be sorry you didn’t let me spread my wings earlier.” Turns out, most of their guidance was fundamentally needed, but the 10-year-old version of me was right to presume that I’d love the freedom of being a grown up.

Anyone who knows me is very aware of the fact that I hate “being bossed.” Adulthood is great because I can make my own choices and I have no problem owning the consequences of them. If I want to stay up til 2 a.m. and make myself sick eating chocolate, then by God I’ll do it. If I don’t like my job, I’ll quit and live off of Ramen for a few months. I think most people get stressed about the pressures of being an adult because they back themselves into corners and can’t—or won’t—change their situation. You can’t quit your miserable job because you’re up to your eyeballs in debt, or you married a lemon and didn’t sign a prenup, or you had kids before you were ready and are left looking forward to buying a Miata during your midlife crisis. 

I’m not going to rant and rave about “knowing thyself” or putting yourself in positions where you won’t be trapped if just one thing goes wrong, but I will say that being a big boy or girl means you have limitless choices about the things (good and bad) you can include in your life. I like having those choices and even if they burn me, I prefer having the ability to make them versus not. I really believe that being able to hop on a flight to Europe is way better than trying to win a game of hopscotch at recess.