Wish I’d never grown up
Photo Credit: Google.Images.com
By Sarah Van De Weert, Opinions Editor
All that I ever wanted since I was a young child was to be grown up. I wanted my own home to return to at the end of the day, a real job to look forward to every morning, and sole responsibility for taking care of myself. I used to tramp around the house playing dress up with my Barbie dolls and my stuffed animals, pretending they were my kids or my husband or coworkers. I used to play house on the playground and in the backyard with neighborhood kids.
This dream continued into high school. As a yearned to become more independent, my parents pulled back. As I was reaching to get out on my own, the more I needed help. I used to think that everything should go my way in high school, that it was my life and therefore, I should be the one to decide how it went, whether that had to do with what I did, who I spent my time with, or what time I went to bed. Trust me; no one likes being told they need to be in bed by 10p.m. as a senior in high school.
I graduated. I came to college. And for a really long time, I thought that I was living in this strange new freedom called “adulthood.” I was on my own, had my own money, did what I wanted with my life, and all of the things that I thought real adults did. This sense of independence made me enjoy things like doing laundry on my own or washing the dishes, chores that I actually really despise. But I am not an adult. I am not anywhere close to becoming an adult. I do not pay for my own health insurance. I am certainly not paying my college tuition on my own. I don’t pay taxes. I do not have a full – time job. I live in bliss of faux adulthood.
Until something bad happens. Or until I get upset with my mom for trying to tell me what I need to do with my life. Or until I go home and immediately stop doing my own laundry, making my own food, and washing my own dishes because I know that if I do not, my parents are still going to be my parents and do all of these things for me.
I think the most difficult part for me about faux-adulthood is knowing when to say that although I am almost twenty years old, there are still things that I cannot handle on my own.
If my car got a flat tire, I would definitely be on the phone to my dad before calling AAA even crosses my mind. If I need a skirt hemmed or a shirt ironed or a bad stain out, I am definitely out of luck unless my mom is around and can help me with it. If I need to buy a new computer, I am not going to the store unless my computer science major brother comes with me.
Or if I am hurting in an unimaginable way because of normal parts of growing up and adulthood—distance tearing me apart from my high school best friend, the problems that come along with living in close proximity with other people, or the idea that once again, people do not in fact live forever.
My mom waited until after I had taken my exams to let me know that the end was in sight for my grandfather, who had been diagnosed with cancer at the end of last school year. For some reason, even though I have gone through this process so many times with my grandmother, neighbors, family friends, and other people I knew, it still hit me really hard when I found out.
The thing that I think I struggle with the most about becoming a real adult is how do I g e t through moments like these? What do I do when I want to live independently, completely on my own, but am still torn up by tough situations like the death of a loved one?
I know that as you get older you begin to experience more and more of these situations. I know that life is hard and not perfect and filled with pain, but is that all that being an adult is? Does it mean never again feeling the complete bliss that I felt playing house as a child?
Because if that is what being an adult is, then I think I would rather not become an adult. Is it too late for me to make that choice?
