Recently, while browsing in a department store, I stumbled upon a purse that piqued my interest. I picked it up, tossed it over my shoulder, and caught sight of myself in the mirror. To my dismay, I realized it was a purse that would befit an older woman. I quickly set it back down, much like one might recoil from an unexpected insect.
This moment illuminated a reality: the transition into adulthood is often subtle, marked not by grand events but by small, seemingly innocuous choices. Before I knew it, I could envision my home filled with jars of hard candies and pockets full of crumpled tissues. I imagined myself purchasing “slacks” and eagerly taking home leftover bread from my early evening dinners.
Having recently celebrated my 46th birthday, I find myself firmly planted in the realm of middle age. I possess the markers of a full-fledged adult: homeownership, tax responsibilities, and a commitment to regular health check-ups. I was even prescribed progressive lenses, a clear sign of my evolving vision. It dawned on me that I am no longer in the same age bracket as the contestants on shows such as American Idol; I am now among their parents—those middle-aged figures watching from the sidelines.
Despite my graying hair and the unmistakable signs of aging, I often find myself incredulous at this reality: “Can this really be happening? I still feel like a kid!”
I can pinpoint the onset of these feelings to my late twenties when I was living in an apartment in Dupont Circle. A close friend and her husband had just purchased their first home—a beautiful Colonial in a suburban neighborhood. They had grown-up furniture, a spare bedroom, and even a lawn mower. During a dinner visit, as we lingered over coffee, I found myself laughing and confessing, “I keep waiting for the parents to come home.”
As the youngest of five, I’ve always held onto the identity of being the “baby.” This position granted me a unique perspective as I observed my older brothers navigate adulthood while I remained behind. The eldest was bar mitzvahed when I was still in diapers, and he left for college just before I entered second grade. This led me to believe that age was the gateway to privilege and credibility. I longed to be older, to shed my youth, and to eagerly embrace the next stage of life. However, it took me a while to realize that, like chasing one’s tail, I would never actually catch up, and if I didn’t savor the present, I might miss out.
Growing up with older parents only added to this perception. Their high school yearbooks from the 1940s seemed as ancient as if they’d lived during colonial times. Their musical tastes remained rooted in the Big Band era, further solidifying their status as “grown-ups.”
Now, as a parent myself, I continue to grapple with feelings of inadequacy and that lingering desire to “arrive” at adulthood. I often wonder if my children perceive me as a true adult. I still lack knowledge about basic car maintenance and the intricate workings of the Federal Reserve, and the mechanics of my home’s boiler are an ongoing mystery.
Yet, I find evidence that I am indeed an adult. I have a yearbook from the 1980s that, though not entirely in black and white, is undeniably outdated. The 1980s music I enjoy in the car is as distant to my children as Tommy Dorsey’s music was to me during my childhood. The fashions that teenage girls embrace today are beyond my comprehension. The transformation just occurs—whimpers, not bangs.
A moment of clarity arrived when my son looked up from his book and asked, “Mom, what does ‘mum’s the word’ mean?” I realized I could answer confidently. I know how to drive, make dinner appear, and ensure clean clothes emerge from the laundry.
Recently, while caring for my younger son who was sick, I found myself uttering the words, “Don’t worry. Mama’s going to take care of you.” Those words, once spoken by my mother, brought comfort. In that moment, I recognized that my son doesn’t need to know that I sometimes feel like I’m navigating life on a wing and a prayer. Perhaps, my mother felt the same way, and so did her mother before her. This may be the most profound insight of all regarding adulthood.
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In summary, adulthood often creeps up on us through small, everyday moments. It is a journey of realization that we are equipped to handle life’s challenges, even if we sometimes question our competence. Embracing these moments can lead to a deeper understanding of ourselves as we navigate the complex landscape of adulthood.
Keyphrase: adulting journey
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