So, I’ve been thinking a lot recently about what it means to be grown up.  As a person in my early 30’s, I pretty much qualify as a full-fledged adult.  But … what exactly does that mean?  Is it about paying your bills?  Having a steady job? Being able to feed yourself on a daily basis (and not at McDonalds)? Owning a home?  Having kids?

Urgh.  So much to contemplate …

A few months ago I was pouring blood, sweat and tears into my personal statement for law school applications.  For anyone who has applied to law school, you know (and I’m sharing it with everyone else) the whole thing is re –donk -ulous in its intensity.  Every little detail counts, and it has to be scrutinized and dissected as to its value and what it says about you.  As a person who has always loved to write, I felt that my personal statement would be a strong component in my application ~ but I also knew that it was going to take a lot of work to make it good.  Truth be told, I wasn’t in love with it when I sent it out ~ but I had worked on it for so long, and felt that I just needed to let it rest.  It was like over-kneaded pastry.  Sometimes, you just have to walk away.

So, how does that tie into ‘grown-up’ -hood?

It got me thinking a lot about my life thus far … where I’ve been, the choices I’ve made, and how they have affected everything else, like ripples in a pond after a stone drops.  I still remember with clarity a fear I’d had has a teenager.  I looked at all the people I’d once sat in class with, going off to college and then getting jobs and living real lives, and I was frozen with fear that when my turn came, I wouldn’t know what to do.  I used to lay awake at night, wondering how people made that transition from kid to adult with such ease.  Was there a trick I didn’t know?  Did someone let you in on what to do at a certain point?  What if I got missed?

I think that this deep rooted fear is probably what crippled me as a young adult.  Not totally, but it was a big contributer.  Now, I don’t want you to think that I didn’t have great parents.  I definitely do.  They both worked very hard to give my brother and I a great launching pad for our futures.  We went to great schools, we played sports, we (ahem, I) got to go to theatre, dance and voice classes (oh, yeah, I used to do a lot of theatre).  My grandmother lived with us, and she made home-cooked meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I mean, realistically, it was sort of idealistic.  And we lived it.  However … when you combine an idealistic childhood with the kind of fear I had about ‘growing up,’ and you add in the little assumption made by my parents that I understood certain, basic things that I did not (example: money management) and voila, you get me in my early 20’s.

My failings hurt even more because coming out of high school, there was a lot of potential weighing on my shoulders.  Potential, in certain cases, can be a dangerous thing.  It puts undue pressure where pressure is not needed, and it can cause a lot of angst as life goes on.  I mean, yes, of course, it’s a compliment.  Someone (or several someones) think that you’ve got what it takes to be be great.  But then, if you fall flat on your face (for one reason or another) all that ‘potential’ does, is make you feel worse.

I can go back through my history, and pinpoint some places where I went really wrong.  I mean, we’re talking catastrophic boo-boos.  But if I hadn’t skipped down those roads with wanton abandon, would I still be here, sitting in my cozy home, finally happy and settled in life?  Maybe … but, also, maybe not.  Would I trade a might-have-been for this very happy known quantity?  Definitely not.  And I think that is the essence of being grown up.

Here’s the thing.  We don’t own a home.  Sometimes, that’s a bummer (like when we have guests, and they have to sleep on our living room floor, because we don’t have a spare room).  But a lot of times, it’s not a bummer at all.  We’re not married, and we don’t have kids.  That doesn’t make our life any less fulfilling for us.  And that’s a great feeling.  So after all this thinking and grappling, and contemplating (I know, it even sounds exhausting!) I think I’ve figured it out.

I think being grown up is about assessing your own life, and making the best choices within it.  When everything is said and done, and all the b.s. is brushed away, the truth is whether you’re happy in your own skin.   I love where I live ~ not necessarily my zip code~ but the rooms that John and I occupy.  I love the routine we’ve established together ~ I love the long talks we have, and I love the long silences.  I love falling asleep on the sofa watching a movie and holding hands.  I guess I’ve finally figured out that life isn’t a race or a competition.  I don’t want to do anything because it’s expected, or what’s quote unquote, next.  I don’t have a check list of what I must accomplish in order to be a grown up.  I’m not saying I don’t understand the value of certain things ~ of course I do!  But the most valuable thing is, to quote my brother, “Live my style.”

I’ve learned an incredible amount of lessons the long way, or the hard way, or both.  It’s taken me ten years (give or take) to get my feet back underneath me, and establish a little bit of normalcy.  I give John a lot of credit for that, because when we first met,  he became my anchor as I was tossed about on a very stormy sea.  But I’ll take a little bit of credit, too.  I’ve had some wild adventures, and I’ve felt a lot of pain.  And now I’m here, writing again for the first time in years, applying to law school which is a dream I never thought I’d fulfill, and living a pretty domesticated life with a great guy.  It’s a little funny when one of my favorite things to do is balance the checkbook.   And we can even feed ourselves with real, well-balanced meals!  (Just as a safety net though, McDonalds is right down the street!).

There’s a small part of my brain that keeps humming to me as I write this, and I can’t help but laugh at the song.  So for any of you out there reading this who can remember it, the theme song from “Saved by the Bell: The College Years” is stuck in my head.  I’m not trying to diminish what I just wrote, but I do think that’s hysterical.