I turn 50 years old this week, and I still don’t feel like a proper grownup. And I never have. Is that unusual? I wouldn’t describe it as a Peter Pan Syndrome. I’ve always felt capable and confident that I could take care of myself and my loved ones in whatever ways were needed. And as near as I can tell, I think I have.
I’ve been a part of numerous families, assisted in the raising of a handful of children, had careers, owned homes, and had retirement accounts. But aside from truly loving others and being loved in return, the rest of that shit was me just going through the motions of maturity.
Thus, it always felt like I was in “fake it till I make it” mode and I never made it. Not so far as reaching adulthood goes, anyway. Because whenever it was time for grown people to do grownup things or make big-boy/girl decisions, I felt inclined to look around for a real adult. Perhaps I’m just terminally immature and refuse to clear that hurdle. I do still chuckle at dick and fart jokes, after all.
Maybe it’s some sort of fear or paralyzation caused by mental defect or childhood trauma. Or maybe I never gave enough of a shit about all the seemingly useless or dead-end trappings that came with being a grownup, to care enough to see it all through. I, of course, would like to think it’s the latter.
Oddly enough, despite a number of major setbacks and what I consider to be a somewhat advanced age, I feel like I’m standing at the precipice of some wonderful things and exciting life chapters. So I’m hopeful and happy on this day. Anyway, Happy Bday to me. I hope I die a quick and painless death before the earth shakes us off like a bad case of fleas or the Freshwater Wars kick into high gear :-)