~ middle, middle age ~

As adulthood quickly creeps up on me, ignoring my deliberate attempts to delay its eventual grasp (that bastard), I am suddenly facing the horrifying realization that I must figure out what I want to do and (even more horrifying) who I want to be.

Just to set things straight, I have never felt young.  I was probably the only ten year old who would rather spend the half an hour before bed attempting to set her hair in pin curls than watching TV.  Sometimes I speak of "youths" as though I'm not included in that classification.  My idea of a perfect night is a hot cup of tea, my floral robe, 25 pillows, and any movie with Myrna Loy.  The only thing I hate more than arugula is a typical college party.

Let's face it.  I'm an old lady.  An old lady who doesn't have to do her own taxes and wouldn't know a credit card statement if it bit her on the ear.  (and an old lady who fully recognizes her own privilege and is unbelievably grateful for it)

Now.  I have three choices when faced with such a task as growing up.  1. I could run and hide and forge my ID to make myself 19 forever (which has some obvious flaws).  2. I could learn the things an adult must know and walk confidently in the direction of my future (which is obviously designed for someone way more organized and optimistic than myself).  Or 3. I could take things a day at a time and slowly prepare myself, one task at a time (like throwing out six years worth of notes and tackling The Junk Drawer).  A fourth option would of course be to marry rich and never work a day in my life, but that thought makes me slightly nauseous and more than a bit depressed.  So being a competent adult it is!

It's no secret to those who know me well that change is both the thing I dread and the thing I crave the most, so I look upon this next phase of my life with mixed emotions.  Of course, the opportunity to add a new layer to myself and find my place in the world is something I am very grateful for, but at the same time, to say I'm not scared shitless would be an incredibly bad lie.  Leaving the things I have come to feel comfortable with, the people I love, and the grocery store I could navigate while blindfolded, all of which I am so lucky to have, is a really big puddle to jump over.

But soon enough, adult life will be my norm.  I'll get excited over buying laundry detergent,  and the "youths" I complain about will actually be younger than me.

Gone will be the days of sleeping in, waking up to homemade biscuits, and running to an adult when the vacuum cleaner eats a pair of tights and then catches on fire.  I will be the adult.  Youths will run to me with smoking vacuum cleaners.  And that my friends, is a scary, scary thought.

xoxo,
Eliza