I remember when I had just moved into my first apartment, in 2nd year of undergrad. My roommates and I went grocery shopping, and we felt so mature buying fruits and vegetables, and going home to make ourselves dinner. There was the sense that we were grown-up, and yet at the same time, a nagging feeling that we were only playing grown-up . . . as if taking personal responsibility for our nutrition was a temporary gig while our parents were out of town, instead of the new reality of our lives.
It’s been almost 10 years since we lived in that first purple closetless triplex, and all of the roommates have moved onto partners and careers. We’ve all managed to avoid getting scurvy, so I guess we’ve been successful in nourishing ourselves. I still have that feeling of playing grown-up, though. It’ll hit me suddenly when I’m washing the car, or look in the mirror and realize I’m wearing a suit.
What’s even stranger, though, is that I’ll be going about my daily business and suddenly realize that I’m living a completely adult life. I remember when I was deciding if I was going to go to law school, and I had this sense that I was not sure enough of myself to put that kind of time and effort into professional training. This week, I signed my letter of offer for a permanent position at work without a blink. When PJ and I were first dating, the thought of marriage terrified me. Even when we got engaged, I was overwhelmed that I had made the decision to spend the rest of my life with him. Now we’ve been married for almost 4 years, and our inter-connection is a given.
I am still the same person who proudly brought home her very own frozen juice and pasta from the grocery store, but somewhere along the way, I’ve learned to trust my judgement, make decisions, and take care of myself. Weird.