I’d like to lodge my official protest against growing up. Scratch that. I’d like to lodge my official protest against all the things that are suddenly expected of you when you reach the cusp of adulthood: owning a home, popping out a couple kids, contributing to a 401(k), remembering to get the car washed. Obviously, there is nothing wrong with any of these things…it’s just that when you’re one of the 29-year-old freaks who would rather remain childless, spend your entire paycheck, and have someone else manage your finances, the expectation of maturity, procreativity and fiscal brilliance is a little trying.
I wish someone would have told me the exact Magic Age of Adulthood, because I think I missed it. One day, it was perfectly acceptable to make minimum plus tips tending bar…and the next, it was embarassing that I don’t have my master’s degree. (Or my bachelor’s for that matter, but let’s skip that part.) Is it 25? 26 and a half? 28? Someone should have told me.
Here’s the really frustrating part: there’s no in-between (not that I’ve found, at least) option. You’re either a responsible, career-and-family oriented adult, or you’re an angsty, can’t-make-up-my-mind-about-anything-so-I’ll-have-another-beer adult. And I know some of both read this blog, so PLEASE don’t think I’m making a value-judgement on either one — my issue is that I have a foot in each camp and frankly, it sucks. What about those of us who don’t want either option? Isn’t there a hidden, mysterious Third Way where all us selfish idealists might congregate and call home?
Maybe it’s just living in California. Yeah, that’s it. I’m sure the almost-adults in Nebraska don’t have this problem.
I am petrified of 26…so I think that’s the “age”…
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jeremy
I feel precisely the same way. There is much frustration in having what you have and doing what you do (job) because of decisions you made as a teenager and a twenty-something (egad). It hurts to watch some dreams die and not have another dream close by to replace it with. And, yes, most people our age either have kids and a house and a couple of cars or are quickly acquiring them, and even though I clearly don’t want any of those things, I still fret a little that maybe I’m just not mature enough to aspire to being a parent and a homeowner. That’s a distinct possibility. And please understand that I am by no means looking down my nose at these things. Not at all. Just don’t want ‘em. Yet.
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Ramon and I have, fortunately, the same opinion about these sorts of things: we prefer to remain childless for the moment, we have chosen to remain apartment-dwellers for the time being, we’re contemplating car-lessness as well, since Seattle’s got such a great transit system, etc. And we comfort ourselves, lacking Master’s degrees - which does rankle - by aspiring to continue to learn new things and trying things that frighten us a little for the sake of staying elastic and open-minded. Right now I’m learning Spanish and we’re both learning guitar. For a while I was a nude model for sculptors. Stuff like that. Since we seek contentment, simplicity and authenticity in our life above all things, it’s a little easier to manage thoughts of longing (wish we had an extra $3,000 a year for vacations to the Caribbean, wish we had a Mini Cooper, wish I could afford more tattoos, wish we had enough money to get any old degree we wanted, it WOULD be great to have our own house so we could tile the living room and grow lettuce) by reminding each other that we’re having a really, really good time and we like ourselves and each other quite a lot. The thing that bugs me most is that Doing Good has not yet presented itself as a large-ish facet of my life, besides aspiring to bring love and joy to as many as I can (that in itself will take more than my lifetime to achieve on a consistent basis), but I’m working on what Doing Good means to me philosophically and especially in practical terms.
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Anyway, I’m not trying to be bratty or complacent, but I wanted to say that I feel the same struggle and list some of the things I think about to comfort myself.
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Cerise