When I was in my twenties, I pretty much just wanted to convince myself and everyone around me that I really was an adult. I wanted to be taken seriously as an adult. I was careful to not conduct myself as a "floozy" or in other immature ways. I was a very serious 20-something. Too serious, if you ask me.
Also, in my twenties, I started to realize that some of those things I pushed back against as young monkey were actually not so unreasonable. It was a frightening realization.
In my thirties, I loosened up a bit. I was confident in my adultness and could have a bit more fun. So much that I even was arrogant enough dispense advice to others. Also, school loans had been paid off and I had advanced in my job so I had a bit more money with which to travel with girl friends, etc. It was fun. There were a few little aches and pains, but more or less it was carefree and reason enough to have been so serious as a young monkey.
I'm now forging headlong into my forties. Let me tell you . . . I really am an adult now and it sucks. Why did I work so hard to come to this place? Suddenly the responsibilities, not just the fun, of adulthood are pressing down upon my little pink monkey butt. I realize more and more that I lived a charmed and sheltered little existence in my youth. And, now I'm paying the piper. Friendships have been altered. Family obligations have whole new dimensions. Work carries little glamour and a lot of responsibilities.
And, I'm pretty sure that this is the decade during which I will start to develop all those annoying little quirks that will define me as an old, old monkey. The appreciation of a healthy burp? Gettin' there. Obsession with "elimination" ? Yep. . . working on that one too. Being less and less concerned about farting in public? Not yet . . . but I'm pretty sure it's coming soon.
Boy, am I gonna be fun in my 80s.
No comments:
Post a Comment