I’ve been having issues with adulthood ever since I entered it.
The thing is, I like being an adult. I just feel like I’m doing it wrong.
A lot of this comes from being single and childless, which, people assure me, as I listen in horror, will come to an end at some point. I’m doing okay with my singleness at the moment—ask me again next week—and I am more than okay with being childless.
It’s hard to feel like an adult when the majority of my friends and acquaintances seem to be planning weddings, planning kids, planning future residences that suit both parts of the couple, getting ultrasounds, worrying about school districts, buying houses, taking temperatures, and wiping runny noses, and I’m … not.
And if they’re not planning weddings or taking care of kids, a lot of my friends/acquaintances are in graduate school—a decision I do not want for myself, though I support them in their efforts.
So they’re also planning academic/vocational futures, organizing class schedules, and studying, while I’m chilling with my bachelor’s degree and have no intention of advancing that.
And what am I doing? Well, as you know, I like to go out of town a lot to visit people. But on a more *ahem* low-key day, aside from working from home, often I’m hanging out in my apartment, reading Dracula and eating curry I don’t have to share with anyone and drinking wine that I also don’t have to share with anyone and watching MST3K or Avengers and trawling Tumblr and writing fanfiction/blog posts/the sequel to my novel and planning vacations and Gchatting with friends as we squee over how cute this or that celebrity is. The only life I’m responsible for, aside from my own, is the philodendron that I got for Christmas. (I named him Coulson.) The most agonizing thing I’m waiting for is season 3 of Sherlock.
I love it all. My problem is that none of that sounds like something an adult should do.
I started thinking about this even more this week, as I was watching season 3 of the BBC sitcom “Miranda” online. I talked about this show when I learned about it a year and a half ago, I think. It’s a hilarious and exaggerated account of real-life-type awkwardness, and follows the protagonist, Miranda’s, failures to grow up and live like a “normal” thirtysomething woman. I swear, some of this stuff is like I’m watching myself 5-10 years in the future.
But as hard as I tend to be on myself, I have to concede that I’m more competent at life things than poor Miranda. At least in some areas. So when I start feeling down on myself for being immature or not a “real” adult or functional human being, there are some things I can keep in mind.
may be totally am silly and immature and ridiculous in many ways. BUT, I am gainfully (self)employed, I pay bills and taxes, I’m debt-free, I can feed/dress myself reasonably well, occasionally run the vacuum cleaner and disinfect the toilet, attend church, periodically go out with friends, plan my own vacations, keep up with maintenance on my car, and try to work on a sequel to my novel because oh yeah, I already wrote one! Also, for any unmarried British fellows who may be reading this, I make a bitchin’ batch of Yorkshire puddings.
And if that’s the case, does it really matter if I do most of that work in my pajamas while listening to bad pop music and swooning over celebrities (occasionally planning a meet-cute and subsequent marriage to one or three of them) and leaving my bed unmade and eating my lunch out of the pan I cooked it in because I couldn’t be bothered to get out a plate?
Apparently, dignity is overrated.
(HAHAHAHA … as if I’ve ever been dignified…)
What about you? If you’re technically of legal age, do you feel like an adult? Why or why not?