October 21, 1999
On The Brink
Amusing conversation with my mom this afternoon. It made me giggle.
Mom: (after ascertaining that I really am okay -- she reads this too) You're doing really well.At this point, I just erupt into goofy giggles. She just sounded so relieved. I mean, I am twenty-seven years old, after all. I described myself the other day as having one foot firmly in adulthood and the other firmly planted in post-adolescence.
Me: Yeah, I am. I feel... well, it's hard to describe. Okay no. It's not hard to describe, but it sounds silly.
Mom: Well, what is it?
Me: (sheepishly) Well... I feel like a grown-up for the first time.
Mom: That's not silly. It's about time, but it's not silly...
Because there is another level there, between adolescence and adulthood. College-age, I guess, except enrollment in college isn't a necessity. Seems like it spans ages 18-25, usually. It's not really adulthood, but it's not childhood or adolescence either. We live at home (or at least dependent on our parents) for so much longer now. Granted, I haven't been dependent on my parents really for five years or so, but that's only part of it. It's a... I hesitate to say lifestyle, but that's close. It's looser than adulthood. It's easier to make mistakes and not get as uptight about them. Spontaneity is more likely. Maybe it's because there are fewer ties holding us down. Life tends to be a little messier, a little wilder.
God. I sound like I'm mourning my lost youth. Shoot me, please.
I'm not. I mean, I think I'm managing to keep all the things that made me an interesting 'post-adolescent'. My interests aren't changing. I can still say, with no shame, that some of my favorite pasttimes include playing make-believe (in the form of role-playing games), dressing up (SCA events), watching cartoons, following comic books... you get the idea. I think I'm learning that being responsible doesn't mean growing up completely. 'Being adult' doesn't mean that I have to stop being silly, stop being a kid at heart, stop watching the moon, stop looking for faeries, stop dreaming.
Just like there are no hard and fast rules for childhood or adolescence or post-adolescence, there are no hard and fast rules for adulthood either. I can be the sort of adult I want to be. That feeling is liberating and scary at the same time. I find myself looking for models of what I want to be. They're not easy to find. The ones I think might be what I'm looking for aren't really all that much older than me. (That's 'cause not many people are older than you, kid, you're ancient!) Excuse me while I go kill the voices in my head.
Seriously, I've caught myself doing some pretty scary things lately (other than housework). I've occasionally looked in the mirror, looking for the beginnings of wrinkles. I think I found them. And yesterday, when I was washing my face before bed... I looked for gray hairs. Just a glance. I didn't, like, get out the fine tooth comb and start searching actively. I didn't find them. Thank goodness.
Why am I so age-obsessed lately? I think I'm going to age myself just worrying about when I'm going to start 'getting old'. That and I'm having fantasies of ending up as the Crazy Cat Lady at the end of the block. You know, the old woman with 30 cats.
Did I mention that Max and I are bonding quite well lately? He usually comes to the door when I get home, and meows at me until I sit down and pet him. He's also been spending a great deal of time sitting on my lap (or trying to) when I'm on the computer at home. I think it's because he sometimes has a knack for getting snuggly when I'm upset. The other new thing since the move is that he's really hyper and playful in the morning. He races from one end of the house to the other, just like every other cat I've seen living in a mobile home.
The really amusing thing is watching him try and figure out just how the miniblinds on the windows are different from the vertical blinds in the old apartment. See, you can't just squeeze through the miniblinds as you nose them out of your way. Believe me. Max has tried. When it doesn't work, he gives up and whines at me until I raise the blinds.
This is my baby. Just think how I might twist and warp a real one.
Posted by Lisa at October 21, 1999 02:00 PM
