Being an adult is really nothing like I thought it would be when I was little.
I remember feeling like there would be nothing better than to be a grown-up. Nobody told them what to do. They could eat whatever and whenever they wanted without having to ask. They got to drink soda. They didn’t have a bed time. They didn’t have to worry about what shows they watched because no one was going to tell them to turn it off because it was “smut”.
Adults don’t have to live with their siblings and “get along”. They don’t have to refrain from “snotty tones” or rolling their eyes. They get to boss people around without being told “quit being bossy.”
I thought becoming a grown up would somehow be like getting let into an exclusive cool club of non-stop awesome.
In fact, there are times when being an adult really sucks the big one.
There are a multitude of little reasons of course–like people really do tell us what to do (they are called our bosses and the government), eating whatever we want makes us unhealthy, eating whenever we want means we are up all night with a gut-ache, drinking soda will probably kill us, bed time is actually earlier than when we were kids, and, well, Ok. We do get to watch whatever TV program we want–as long as the small children are in bed, which means no, we don’t.
But there are bigger things too.
The pain of having experience sometimes stinks. Knowing our kids (and students) are going to go through stupid crap because that is what middle school and high school and even sometimes elementary school is sometimes.
The pain of losing people to moving, breakups, divorce, and even death.
The way pain and loss are juxtaposed with every day, mundane things. Adulting is weird.
Today I went to a funeral. After that funeral, Cortney took me out for lunch. Then I had to buy the boys winter boots.
It’s just strange how one minute you are feeling a great loss and feeling like your insides are going to come out of your eyes, and the next you are talking about the Christmas shopping budget over sandwiches with your spouse. Then you are comparing boot sizes and prices.
How is that possible all in one day?
As a kid, if something made me hurt, I felt my hurt. I crawled in bed and hurt until I didn’t anymore. And chances are that whatever made me hurt was nothing compared to the death of a colleague or watching middle schoolers lose someone that was like family to them. And yet I could hurt as long as I needed because I had no one else I was responsible for.
Being an adult means I hurt, then I move on because there are four other people in this house depending on me to help keep life going.
I hug co-workers and smile through tears about the love Abbey spread in her short life. Then I decide between zip or tie boots.
I don’t really know where I am going with this–which I suspect is another side effect of being an adult. I just know today was weird.