When do you start being a grown-up? I keep thinking that surely I've passed that magical, invisible, but certainly real mile marker in my life. The one that separates childhood from adulthood, youth from age, naivety from experience. After all, I remember times in my life when I thought that 10 was so grown up, 16 was mature, 21 was unimaginable, and 29...well, 29 was just down right ancient.
Except that I'm 29 today. And I'm beginning to wonder if I'm actually grown up. I've managed to do a lot of grown up things, I guess. I'm married, I've moved across country, I've got a job, I've had two children, I've bought a house. And I'm now 29.
So for all intents and purposes, I can see no reason why I'm not a grown up. Except that I don't feel like one.
Most days, it just feels like I'm winging this whole thing. Making it up as I go along. And nearly every day, the more I've supposedly accomplished with my life, feeling younger, less experienced, and decidedly less grown up.
I'm starting to think that maybe there isn't a magical ribbon that you run though at the end of childhood, standing there cheering while someone places the award of adult around your neck. Maybe there isn't a certain age where suddenly, I stop feeling like a child in my own life and start feeling like the one in charge. Maybe there isn't this mystical point where everyone stops commenting about how very young I am.
Or maybe there is. Maybe next year. Because surely 30 is finally grown up.