I don’t know how to adult.
I don’t know how to do taxes.
I don’t know what a mortgage is or how you would obtain one.
I don’t understand why we have to pay water bills, especially if the availability of clean water falls under the basic ‘human rights’.
I don’t know how to drive a car.
Yet I am technically an adult. Or at least if I was in a room with many small children, they would look to me as their ‘adult’. I don’t feel comfortable with that kind of power.
Being an adult, to me, has always had some connotation with control. An adult is someone who has their life in control; they have a steady job, a flat or house (although in this day and age, the flat is the more realistic option), a car, maybe even a steady relationship.
Now I see all these people my age who have kids; who are engaged, or moved out. I’m a student for one reason; it prevents me from moving into the real world a little longer.
I have no idea how they can do it! Some of my friends have been mothers for nearly three years! To her kids (and yes, it’s plural because she has twins), she’s an adult. To me… She’s not. Not really.
She’s been forced to mature, forced to get her shit together in some orderly fashion in order to provide for her gorgeous little boys.
It’s just baffling to me. I’m not shaming girls (or guys) who have kids whilst still in their teens. They are some of the strongest people I have ever had the pleasure to meet (and trust, some of them have continued to study whilst raising a little one, which is not an easy thing to do).
I don’t even really know what I’m talking about (so nothing new there, then).
I guess what started me thinking about the whole ‘adult’ thing is because my birthday is growing nearer.
I’ll be 20 and the ‘young adult’ classification will be one tear closer to being simply ‘adult’. I like being a young adult. It means you can make the mistakes. You don’t have to have your life set out completely. Things can change, you can try things. There are no commitments and you have nothing pressing to worry about… most of the time.
This is the first year I’ve not been excited for my birthday. I’m one of those obnoxious people who get really excited for their birthday, can’t sleep, and is up ridiculously early in the morning.
I felt the change last year.
My birthday fell on Easter Sunday. It’s normally difficult to get all my friends together to do something for my birthday and most of their families go away for the Easter break. Last year, pretty much all of them had plans. A few of them made it round to wish ‘Happy Birthday’ during the day, but we went out a few days later as a group. By ‘we went out’, I mean 3 of them went out whilst myself and another friend only lasted an hour.
Clubbing is not exactly something I enjoy. I can get into it if I’ve had a substantial amount to drink, but I honestly don’t like to drink that much. And if it’s crowded? Yeah, no thank you.
So yeah, last year I didn’t really enjoy my birthday. This year I haven’t even made plans. I know if I try, I’ll be roped into clubbing again by the same friend who’s obsessed with it. I won’t enjoy myself and it’ll be the second year where I wished I hadn’t bothered.
So I’m not going to. I think all I want is a nice family dinner. Just me, me mum, dad, brothers, and sister.
Maybe I’ll throw a party for my 21st?