From Her Perspective
On Being a Grown Up
So last week I officially entered my late-late-mid-twenties and lots of things changed. I noticed a gray hair. I started using eye cream religiously to prevent wrinkles. My friends and I stopped going to the bars and instead prefer to sit around our flatteringly-lit living rooms discussing politics and other important current events. Okay, fine, I’m lying about that last one. But as much as I want to be able to say that adult behavior is something I drag out for more than the occasional family party (that is, the ones where I don’t get too wasted and have my father make us go home early), what I thought would be happening at this point in my life is very different than what is actually going on. I figured that, by this point, I’d be a grown-up. I mean, when I was younger, things were going to look a lot different for me…
When I was a little girl, I figured that when I grew up I was going to marry Kurt from The Sound of Music movie (what?! I didn’t realize that the movie was made twenty years before I was born) and either be a ballerina or a scientist. My microscope kit was my favorite toy, after my Michael Jackson doll, of course. I was going to live in a club house in my parents’ backyard and our kids would be the new generation of Von Trapp singers, except instead of folk songs they would sing Tiffany songs. My brother would be living in a club house on the other side of the yard and instead of telephones we would communicate via our He-Man walkie-talkies, which were, of course, connected by a two-foot wire.
When I was in high school, I was going to go to Yale. That was about it. That was all I wanted, all I cared about, even more than guys or wearing overalls (because I was really big into overalls). After Yale, I would be a famous and respected writer and professor and become world-famous for creating something even more profound than The World According to Garp or Seventeen magazine.
Needless to say, I did not get into Yale. They are most likely regretting this decision today. At the time I was not aware of Orange basketball and the importance of split cans of Coors light, so I was pretty upset. Luckily, when I deigned Syracuse worthy of my overalls (which my roommate made me throw away immediately because she said I’d never get a boyfriend wearing them), I ended up making a much better choice.
When I was in college, I figured that I when I left school I would be living in New York City, married to my then-boyfriend, working for Vogue or some sort of other fabulous magazine, living in an amazing brownstone (that we owned, obviously) and basically living the dream. We may have had a kid by now, and I would have had excellent hair that behaved even in the most humid of conditions. We would host dinner parties and have stimulating conversations and I would become an avid jogger.
Well, that boyfriend and I broke up shortly after graduation. I did not move to the city because it scares me and I cannot be too far away from Papa Gino’s. I have never had a dinner party. I have also never jogged. My hair is still pretty much out of control. I am obviously not married to Kurt from the Sound of Music, or anyone else for that matter. But I am very, very single and baggage-free for the first time in a long time, which is a pretty great feeling. I do not own my apartment, but I love where I live. I don’t share a bedroom with anyone, but I adore my roommates and they’re a lot cleaner and more fun than any guy I have ever been with. I still harbor dreams of being a ballerina someday, although what I am doing now is probably more my speed. While I don’t grace the pages of Vogue every month, I get to talk to you guys about what I’m thinking and feeling, and that’s pretty cool, too.
So while I’m not entirely a kid anymore (though many would argue that this isn’t true), and not really an adult yet, either, I’m happy with that. If I could have seen where I was now when I was a little girl, I would not have been disappointed. Most people probably aren’t where they thought they would be when they were kids, but that’s okay. I mean, would you really want to live in a club house in your parents’ backyard? The walkie-talkies would be pretty cool, though…