Post Adolescent, Pre Geriatric

Real adult. What does that even mean? If you came here looking for the answer, then keep on blog browsing, because I don't have the answer. In fact, I don't even know if that is a valid question. Is there such a thing as a real adult? Are their certain incontrovertible characteristics that qualify you as having crossed that line into adulthood?

And why do I care? I always thought adulthood just kind of happened. I pretty much thought my life would just take shape to be the glamorous, yet humble, existence that I was always meant for. When I was 18, I would be whisked away by higher education to the ritzy and intellectual circles in New York, or the sunny, 1969-era San Francisco. That didn't happen. By 22 I figured I would be published, wooing the literary circles of the country with my highly witty and insightful, yet totally accessible, musings. Uh, yeah, still working on that one. By my ripe old age of 25 I... well, I guess I hadn't really planned that far ahead. I imagined I would have an awesome job of my choosing (though what that job may have been changed to frequently to record accurately) and I would most likely live in a small, but still swank apartment that I shared with my equally successful and interesting roommate or boyfriend. That was my life plan.

So life isn't exactly on track. However, I can't blame anyone but myself. I never applied to any schools in California and thinking I would get into NYU was a pipe dream. You have kiss high school's ass to get into a school like NYU (or be loaded or famous) and I didn't do anything beyond showing up for class. And I didn't do that all the time. It's three years past when I should have been published by and except for submitting a few things (unedited and last minute) to some writing contests in school, I haven't exactly tried very hard.

I'm 25 now. And the plan is still a little blurry, but it is definitely taking some definition. I do live with super awesome and totally interesting boyfriend. But we live in his dad's basement. Now, it's a nice basement, don't get me wrong. And we live here by choice. We both work and could easily have ourselves a small, if not swank, apartment. I think his dad likes us being here, though, and it's really hard to turn down an opportunity to save some money and try to figure out what the hell we are going to do now. I still live a little closer to Lansdale, my hometown, than I would like, and a little closer to the poverty line than I would like, and a little farther from a Pulitzer than I would like, but all in all life isn't bad.

Anyway, I am getting off topic. The original point was that having turned 25 has given me so much food for thought that I am nearly sick to my stomach worrying about what I should be doing at this point in my life. 25. That's a hell of a number, and I am not saying it's THAT old, but it's the oldest I've ever been. And it's a lot older than when I started to become the person that I am starting to be, which I would put at roughly 12 or 13. You know, those early adolescent years where you start to wonder about who you are and why you aren't good enough. I imagine that starts even younger for kids now, which is a shame. All I know right now is that if I am an adult then I gots to get working on getting some things in order.

I won't get too into whining about my quarter life crisis or making empty promises about all the things that I am doing to make my life everything that I know it has the potential to be. That wouldn't be very interesting for you to read and it wouldn't be all that interesting for me to write, since it gets pretty repetitive.

Instead, you can read my reflections on life and this thing called growing up. Or being a grown up? I never got around to trying to define this adult thing, but there is time. I tend to ramble, but I will try to keep my thoughts here more or less cohesive, and hopefully somewhat relatable to anyone that wants to join in the blogging fun. Do people actually read these?

In case people DO actually read this, I will leave you with a quote to think on. I can only hope that one day I say something worthy of adding quotations around it.
"Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing." ~ William Butler Yeats