Grown Up

I have graduated from college. I have a great job with decent pay, great benefits and paid vacation. I live by myself in a one bedroom apartment that I have almost decorated to my liking. I am in a stable, fantastic relationship with a wonderful man. Occasionally, I even socialize with coworkers, family or friends on the weekends or after work.

All of these statements somehow have combined to make me an adult, a concept I am still having a hard time comprehending. I don’t feel like an adult. I see other people my age (or close to) everyday and I still don’t feel like I can relate to them, they seem older than me, more mature or more put together somehow. This isn’t a slam on myself or anything like that, there’s just some sort of disconnect between how I see my life and how I see my peers’ lives.

I don’t think I’ve spent my life with this romantic vision of adulthood, and have somehow become disappointed when living it isn’t as glamorous as I had imagined when I was a kid. But maybe that is my problem; I could never relate to the adult world entirely because I never was an adult, and so these romantic notions somehow crawled into my head, and now that I’m here, I realize that it’s just my life. “Just my life” is a very good thing, folks, please don’t take that last statement the wrong way; I have never been happier.

When I was younger, I always had a hard time imagining what it would be like to be older. When I was six, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be 12, when I was twelve, it was hard to see myself at 18. And unremarkably, every year I would become an age I once had a hard time picturing. For awhile I had a hard time grasping what it would be like to have my own place, support myself, and ultimately just be on my own. But somehow, it just happened and now here I am.

Yesterday morning Jenn, Phil, my Mom and Dad came over for brunch. It was the first time I prepared a meal for more than one other person (besides myself). Okay, sure there wasn’t much cooking involved. I cooked some bacon and my Mom helped me with the scrambled eggs. The rest involved cutting up a lot of fruit and mixing the orange juice, setting the table etc, etc. It was really nice to have (almost) the entire family together. I acquired an iron bench from an evicted apartment in the building (with permission from my landlord, of course), which fit nicely in my kitchen and gave everyone a place to sit. I’ve had countless breakfasts with my family, but this was the first time everyone came to my place. Best of all, I didn’t feel a disconnect, making breakfast in my own apartment for my family felt like my life.

Slowly, but surely I’m actually beginning to realize that I’m an adult, not just some 23 year-old who stumbled upon this life by accident.