It’s funny seeing all the posts about twenty somethings whining about how they’re adults but haven’t experienced REAL adulthood, ie mortgage, marriage, kids, responsibility etc etc etc.
And here I sit at 29 years old, feeling like I’ve already lived a couple of lifetimes, and that since I was only 19, not counting the lifetimes that happened in the 18 years before that.
Here’s the thing, kids. Being an adult has nothing at all to do with houses, mortgages, credit cards, kids, marriage, or dream jobs, that those things require being an adult notwithstanding.
Being an adult is experience. It’s the lines in your face from anxiety and stress. It’s the quiet meltdowns when you suddenly just can’t take it anymore. It’s the scars your body from your mistakes, and the scars on your soul from heartbreak and depression.
It’s the realization that the days are running together faster and faster and that life is fleeting indeed.
It’s the deep seated need for a bit of spirituality, whether that means sitting and chanting Namu Amida Butsu at the Buddhist altar, or just searching for peace in the sunlight filtering through the leaves.
Being an adult means being with the regrets, shame and pain of your past
mistakes, and trying desperately to change all the bad habits your life has become.
It means waking up in the morning with years of burden on your back, and going to work at your meaningless job to pay the bills and dreaming that still someday your dreams will come true.
At least that’s what it means to me.