Is it "being a grown-up" when you take a break from all you know and that wonderland of strangeness becomes your life? When the good and bad, but especially the ugly that you thought were temporary announce they're here to stay? When you feel equally pulled back and compelled forward? Is that "being a grown-up"? What the hell would I know about that?
Why is it so hard to accept that parts of my life are over?
The career I dreamed about and pursued since childhood gone in large part because my functional and independent self is gone, because my college injuries, pregnancy, and age conspired to cause the total break down of this already frustrating body. Gone. It's robbed me of large piece of my identity.
Add in two kids at home, and kiss all that goodbye.
I'm a grown up I know this because now there are chapters of my life. I have lived long enough or through enough to constitute chapters. Distinctly different pieces of my life story. Pretty cool, if you ask me. Still, me a grown up?!? A grown up, really? It simply can not be. I still rush out to opening night of animated films. I have Tinkerbell pajamas and still sleep with my blankey. How is this possible? I'm in charge of other human beings?!? (who I wish would stop growing and move out already in equal measure).
The world's smaller, a lot of choices are made, but is "this it"? Doubtful like I said, chapters. There are bound to be more pieces to the not so linear or predictable path my life is following. I like the idea the Mayans had about epochs, a new beginning every few thousands years. My epochs are a little shorter but not in the least, short on adventure.
No comments:
Post a Comment