it comes in flashes.
on sunday evenings when we’ve finished dinner, and all of the chores are done, and i’m preparing for the week, it strikes me. this feeling of completion, of being where i am supposed to be.
on holidays or days i have decided to throw a party, when i am running around like mad trying to make sure everything is right, ooking all of the things, trying to make sure everything comes out warm and at the same time.
when i am sick, and alone, and shuffling around, and wishing someone could just come care for me, and that i didn’t have to do so much on my own.
when i am scrubbing the spots out of the microwave furiously, or making sure to dust in every little corner.
i think, like many things, i have a nebulous and far reaching idea of what it means to be truly grown. and i keep expecting this peace to settle over me, and to realize, “ah, i am here now. this is Grown Up Land,” and it never does. of course it doesn’t, because this isn’t how life really works and everything is always in progress.
i think it’s because i equate adulthood with perfect responsibility. with always have your shit together and every hair in place, and this is not real, ever. so i take the flittering in and out of it, because oh, do i feel so good when i’m one of those spaces where i am just On Top of Everything. and even when i am scrambling i say, ok, so today i am scrambling. and tomorrow, maybe, will be better. and the next day, sometimes i am, and sometimes i am not. and this evolution, this push pull tidal flow, this is Life, really, so i’m learning to be alright with it.
and maybe that is what it means to be grown up, after all.