Welcome to Adulthood

The Epic New Year’s Resolution Project

Every year I make the same resolutions: not to bite my nails, to exercise more, and to not procrastinate. Last year, before 2009 rolled around, I went on a quest to find an epic resolution — one that I could hold onto, learn from, be moved by, and spread like the most delicious cream cheese frosting. I wanted a resolution that would be a daily practice in a really epic way: I wanted it to be a habit I never kicked, and something so big I couldn’t explain it to anyone without reaching my hands out to my sides, as far as they would reach, and laughing a big belly laugh with my mouth open wide. I wanted it to focus on laughter, and love, and kindness, and singing, and the smell of ocean on a sunny day, and spinning round in big poofy-skirted dresses, and ants opening peonies, and skipping and swinging, and 100-piece orchestras.

But I wanted it to be little too. I wanted it to be simultaneously small, something I could hold inside my heart like a warm, soft glow. Something subtle, like the smell of lavender, a mini-earthquake, or a dog’s soft ear. I wanted it to be tiny enough to take with me, to fit in a pocket, maybe the size of a bejeweled blue button. A little, loose button of meaning to remind me to be compassionate, better, grateful, open, bright.

I searched for this epic resolution and I found it. With my firmest resolve, at the stroke of midnight in 2009, I was resolute to be an instrument of peace.

What does that mean exactly? To me, being an instrument of peace was a embodied by the prayer of St. Francis (though, I must note, I am not religious). The prayer of St. Francis is really simple and beautiful. Abbreviated some, it reads:

Make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

That I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love…

Being an instrument of peace was everything I had wanted in a resolution, and the first resolution in memory that I have stuck with, held tight to, and braided with my hair. I have kept it with me, like my blue sparkly button, for the whole year. I think any of my friends who interacted with me on a regular basis in 2009 could attest that I wore this button like a proud cape, or some shiny shoes, or a toothy grin.

I quoted it, “I am an instrument of peace,” I would say to myself (and sometimes aloud.) I would channel my instrument: a violin when I was cut off on the freeway; a cello when I felt really sad; trumpets in times of great joy; an acoustic guitar to forgive; tiny, high celeste timbres, like music box notes while a sugar plum fairy dances, for when I was angry; Rhapsody in Blue for those long walks and good conversation with friends; Leonard Cohen’s rich molasses voice for my mom. And for love, it is the full symphony, or the full chorus in a joyous musical.

This year, I have reprised my epic resolution that is as big as an ocean, and as tiny as map pin. I am but one small instrument.

May 2010 be a year of peace for the world, and for our lives.

Guest Blog: Graduating into Fred Mertz’s Pants

The new year is upon us and the world of Welcome to Adulthood 2009 just wouldn’t be complete without a guest blog visit from Lukus Williams. When I first read Luke’s piece I literally laughed out loud in my super quiet office. (Hopefully my colleagues didn’t catch on that I was spending a little down time reading and chuckling about Luke’s metaphor for adulthood — a pair of extremely high waisted dress slacks.) Luke’s piece is as funny and entertaining as it is insightful. I could brag about how talented of a writer he is, his impressive list of writing gigs, his graphic design-cred (photo credit below goes to him also), and all that good stuff, but I will let his piece speak for itself.

I am thrilled and honored to have Luke as a guest blogger (yes, his comments are the ones that usually generate lots of great discussion, and we are happy to finally hear more of him) and I hope you will “LOL” just as much as I did when reading his work. As always, let’s show him some love in the comments!

It was long, it was messy, but I did it. I’ve graduated from college (well, as soon as ‘State gets back from vacation and mails out diplomas). Now I may have been living on my own, holding various jobs, and being more or less self-sufficient for some time now… but I’ve always been in school. From Little Bo Peep Daycare in Lansing, Michigan to San Diego State University.

I’ve heard many pro-suit arguments, from the whole “look the part” set all the way to “women dig it,” but what I’m really looking for now are coping mechanisms. Is the paycheck motivation enough, or will I need to bring an SDSU shirt and some boardshorts with me to work so I can change the moment the clock strikes 5? Someone have a list of the top ultra casual businesses in San Diego hiring writers/editors/graphic designers/manual laborers? Does David Tennant’s Dr. Who “geek-chic” count as professional attire? Do slacks always have to look like Fred Mertz’s pants? What are the things that you attach from the bottom of your shirt to your socks to make the shirt stay in place called, and do people actually wear them? Why must dress-shirt manufacturers assume that my arms are impossibly long simply because I’m over six feet tall?

This adulthood thing, it’s going to be like my stint as a four-year-old ring barer all over again, isn’t it?

My Life in Minutes

This weekend I watched one of my oldest friends (Nicole, see post below) get married. She is the first of our little group of childhood friends to get married, and I can’t tell you how joyous a moment it was for me to be able to be standing next to her on her wedding day. I don’t want to talk too much about the day, because I am really hoping to get Nicole back to Welcome to Adulthood for another guest blog to tell you all about it.

What I do want to talk about today is living. On the flight home from the wedding, I had an interesting experience that gave me about five minutes to reassess my life. Our plane tried to land in San Diego in the middle of a foggy, windy, rainy storm. I have flown many times in my life and I have never felt the kind of extreme turbulence I experienced on this flight. The lady in the seat next to me, who I had lent my magazine to a few minutes earlier, was clutching my arm and praying — which did not help me to be calm on the brink of utter panic. My boyfriend was with me also. He, of course, ever stoic and valiant, says he “was not scared at all.” But, I could tell by the yelps that most of the other people on the plane sounded pretty scared.

So here I am: falling in an airplane, with a strange lady clutching my arm. I am on the verge of a panic attack. I start thinking of all the worst-case scenarios and conclude that if we had to make a water landing, I would die right away because, not only am I a very poor swimmer, but I had consumed nothing but coffee that day and thus I would perish from dehydration. As I thought this, my mouth became more and more dry, my head began to pound, panic crept into me, gripping my breath and my stomach, and it was all I could do to not throw-up. Suddenly, a track from the ever-evolving Soundtrack of Mara turned on in my head and it calmed me. My plane crash music was Counting Crows, Anna Begins.

I spent the remainder of the flight with my eyes closed./My friend assures me, it’s all or nothing. I am not worried. I am not overly concerned/I was silently bargaining with the mysterious fates that if we didn’t crash I would vow to live every moment as my last./My friend implores me, “For one time only, make an exception.” I am not worried./ In this five minute landing I thought about many things: Nicole’s beautiful wedding, my life in San Diego, my family and cats (“Can I turn my phone on in turbulence to call my mom in the face of death even though ‘FAA prohibits the use of personal electronic devices’!?”), and, oddly enough, my blog[*].

[*]This is the sign I am a hardcore blogger — when faced with uncertain death, I wish I could have just blogged one more time…

When the plane landed, everyone cheered and embraced, but I found myself just numb./Wrap her up in a package of lies. Send her off to a coconut island./ Here I was, squished in the middle seat, and I had just assessed my life in 5 minutes./I am not worried. I am not overly concerned with the status of my emotions./ What conclusions had I come to? Certainly a re-commitment to living every moment as my last, but I also made other realizations that really did stir me, startle me, change me./“Oh” she says, “You’re changing.” We’re always changing./ My life in minutes was a lot less clear-cut than it had seemed 5 minutes earlier./And I’m sure there’s something in a shade of grey, or something in between, and I can always change my name if that’s what you mean./

I walked off the plane, dizzy and nauseous and thirsty for analysis. In our search for the ever-elusive adulthood, complex intellectual assessment has to be both a benefit and a curse for adults. Sometimes, when you turn your mind on, you really can’t turn it off very easily…

Your life in minutes — assess it: What would you do differently? What would change in you? Would there be anything in shade of grey if life might end in five minutes, and then, miraculously didn’t end? What would be playing in your mind soundtrack? You know, prior to this incident, I could have never predicted that Anna Begins would be my plane crash music. I would have rather had something like Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve, or Don’t Stop Believing by Journey, or maybe Electric Pink by the Promise Ring, or Just Watch the Fireworks by Jimmy Eat World. But, you can’t request a song when the mind soundtrack turns itself on, you just have to go with it and make it meaningful.

/She’s talking in her sleep. It’s keeping me awake. And Anna begins to toss and turn. And every word is nonsense but I understand and, oh lord, I’m not ready for this sort of thing./

Guest Blog: All I Need to Know, I Learned in Preschool

I am thrilled to introduce our next guest blogger, Nicole (picture above), who also happens to be one of my very best friends. She gave me permission to use a piece she had written last year, which is actually an excerpt from a book she is compiling of the same title.

This piece is all about transition, and was written shortly before Nicole relocated from California to Arizona. (Her transition, I must note, was a success. She met her future husband and is getting married in less than a month. More to come on that, I am sure.) I hope you enjoy this little vignette as much as I do. As you are reading it, think of transitions you have made in your life. How did you learn from each transition? How hard was it to adjust? What about the transition really helped evolve you into who you are today? Also, consider what lessons you may have learned in preschool that you have carried with you in your life. Let’s discuss in the comments. And stay tuned at welcometoadulthood.com for more from Nicole and her book.

Looks like me and little Matthew have a lot in common…minus the beautiful mullet, of course. When life feels a little unsettling and scary…LET GO. Life is a journey, an experience that we should hold open arms to.

[photo courtesy of N.O.]

A Little Push…

*

*This oldie-but-goodie photo from an earlier entry just seemed to fit with this theme. I couldn’t help myself.

I think the real trick and challenge to adulthood is being able to balance priorities. I wanted to make a metaphor to adulthood being like a juggling act: balancing many balls in the air at once, hoping one doesn’t fall, lest they should all fall. That metaphor doesn’t exactly always work because it assumes that all priorities have equal weight, which is not always true. Well, in the case of Jenn, pictured above, the babies are obviously all equal priorities. But for me, for example, I have to work to pay bills so, therefore, working has to be a more weighty priority to me than some other things in my life.

Take this blog for example. I love this blog. I love the idea of it. I love that what we discuss are really important, relevant, challenging, and inspiring issues. I love the comments and feedback from everyone that helps us deconstruct themes and ideas and find collective meaning in them. I wish I could write in the blog every single day (after all, the key to having a successful blog is blogging regularly.) However, I have work + grad school + homework + boyfriend + house hunting + eating + sleep + cats + exercise to deal with. All of those things are my priorities, and they usually get a spot in my life before blogging.

It is easy to neglect things when you have so many other things to think about.

Most days I feel like my bandwidth is full — I can’t balance even one more little thing or I might just crash. Balancing life is truly overwhelming, and sometimes other parts of my life suffer as a result. The latest casualties of my competing priorities have been: my working group for one of my classes, my health, and my blog.

Sometimes though, all you need is that little push to remind you that you can refocus your energies on a part of your life that had been temporarily stalled. This morning I got that little push…

I was talking to my mom and she said, “So, your brother tells me you have a blog? I didn’t know you had a blog.” For as much as I advertise my blog online (Facebook and other blog sites via comments) I guess I had neglected the old-fashioned way of getting the word out: via telephone to tell my mom. (Note: My mom is very hip, she does have Facebook.) More striking however, was that my brother was the one that told her about it. My brother reads my blog!!

Now, this may not seem like a big deal to some, but you must understand that my brother is a very discerning fellow when it comes to his literature. He is an avid reader, and has probably read more books than anyone I have ever known. He also reads all kinds of blogs, I think mostly of a political nature. The point is: the fact that my brother reads my blog REGULARLY and thinks it is actually GOOD is a huge compliment. In fact, it was so inspiring that as soon as I got off the phone with my mom, I decided to blog immediately. That was just the little push I needed.

Balancing life is often overwhelming, and it is easy to feel we can’t devote the time we really need to certain things, whether it be eating healthy, exercising, blogging, or anything else. Sometimes we all need a little push, a catalyst to help us refresh our perspective on something and recommit to it. That catalyst can come in many different forms, and for me, it came in the form of a brother…

How do you experience random impetuses of inspiration that help you reprioritize? Is the balancing act of responsibilities as hard for everyone else as it is for me? I can’t even imagine adding other variables (like kids!) into the equation. Navigating these competing priorities with grace has to be one of the major challenges of adulthood.

So, does any of this every get easier? Or more fun? Do we get any better at this whole balancing act as we get older?

Any thoughts or ideas, let’s discuss in the comments. (Oh! Oh! And maybe even my brother will comment! Yay!)

(Photo of book from Amazon.com. Second photo courtesty of J.J.)

Defining Adulthood, a continuing discussion. And, YES! Our first GUEST BLOGGER is almost here!

I had a few conversations with some readers today about the idea of “adulthood”, and how yesterday’s posts may have not accurately captured all that is “being an adult.” My wise readers pointed out, it is not just about having a job, or being married, or having kids, or being “responsible” that makes you an adult. For example, one reader, Danna, (soon to be guest blogger, I hope) is 27 years old, successful, and just got a huge tattoo on her back. Another of my dear readers is taking 4 months off work to travel around the world with her beau. Both are embarking on exciting, fantastical, indelible adventures. Making those kinds of exhilarating choices for oneself has to be one of the greatest things about being an adult.

So, we must also include in our Manifesto about Adulthood this: wherever our “adult” path takes us, all experiences are equally valued here. Because, as adults, we have the choice to be accountable and present in our own lives — to live with intention. Adulthood is more than a word, or a cliche. Here, we will reclaim Adulthood as a movement. And that is something that is pretty cool.

What’s it all about?

We are just figuring it out. We are trying our best every day to live right for ourselves and for those who we love. This will be a forum where we shall learn from each other’s experiences. We will have guest bloggers, and eventually I will make this site more high tech. We will seperate each Adulthood topic into it’s own heading, we will support each other and we will share our histories. Let’s archive adulthood. How has our life changed us? What is important to us? What do we cherish? What defines us? What do we like to do for fun? What have been our great adventures and our great trials? How do we deal with our life’s transitions and rites of passage? How do we celebrate? How do we mourn? How do we love? This blog is my little exploration and with your help, input, and discussions, we will take adulthood by storm! Who’s with me?

All Signs Point to Yes.

How do you know when you have reached that ever-elusive “adulthood”? I thought it was when I was 18 years old: adventurous, independent for the first time. Smoking cigarettes on the steps outside my dorm, my parents thousands of miles away, with my newly pierced tongue. “This must be it,” I thought to myself. At 19 years old, my parents got divorced and I was shattered. Was this actually adulthood? Feeling the ache of a guilded and broken childhood every day, and having the courage and the strength to get myself out of bed each morning, go to class, go to my waitressing job, study, smoke cigarettes outside my dorm, and do it again tomorrow without completely unraveling. “This must be it,” I thought to myself.

At 20 years old, I was living back at home with my mother. I made a new “adult” life in my childhood room, removing pictures of my childhood heroes and replacing them with pictures of my friends and I smoking cigarettes outside the dorm. “That must have been adulthood,” I thought as I looked fondly at the pictures. Certainly, I wasn’t necessarily happy back at college, but it reminded me of a time when I felt free, before the divorce, before the bitter realization that even in times of hardship, you have to pick yourself up (and there is no one that will do it for you!) and keep taking care of yourself.

At 21 years old, I knew I had to be there. “THIiiissss must be it, I really just didn’t know it before,” I thought to myself. Now that I am 21, I can drink legally — it has opened my whole life to a new world of legal socialization. Going to bars, meeting boys at bars, this has to be it.

At 26 years old, I graduated college. After an extended stint at community college, I finally transferred to a small, private university and graduated as the oldest person in my class (I thought so at least.) I got a job right after college, and a glamorous one at that. I got to travel to New York frequently, I got to attend fancy parties. I remember getting off the plane at JFK airport on my first official business trip. I had intended to take a taxi into the city, but a nice gentleman at the taxi queue quickly assured me that he would take me into the city for “a good price” in his town car. I sat comforably in the dark leather seats and as I watched the city lights descend upon me, I thought, “Ah ha! So THIS is it! I have finally made it. And boy, does it feel good to be here.” Then the driver told me I owed him $115. After a short argument in which the man told me he would call the police if I didn’t “pay up”, I tearily handed him the money. As I watched him speed away I thought (for I was a little wiser by now and knew there were things I still needed to learn), “Maybe this is not it. Maybe I am not really here yet. But when will I know?”

Now I am 28 years old. I feel like I should be here by now: four of my dearest friends are engaged, another of my dearest friends is well on her way to engagement (they have picked out the ring! Squealll!), I have a job that I wake up for every day (no sleeping through class anymore or skipping out on my waitressing shifts like the old days), I pay bills (a lot of bills!), I live with my boyfriend (who I adore), and my beau and I are currently in the market to buy a house. More terrifyingly, sometimes I see babies and I think for a split-second, “Aww! I want one of those soon…” Then I snap out of it. I’m not there quite yet.

Still, all of these things seem to be rites of passage to adulthood. I think I would feel pretty “adult” if I bought a house with my boyfriend. Obviously my friends feel “adult-enough” to decide to get married. And that new-found affection for children in general? Yeah, I would say that is pretty “adult.” But if I have learned anything from my life in the last 10 years it is that being an “adult” isn’t always what it seems, or what it is cracked up to be. How can we actually be an “adult” if we don’t even know how to handle these rites of passage? I mean, could I really conceptualize birthing a child through my vagina (yes, I said vagina, I think that is part of being an adult?) and then raising the child for the rest of my life? And what about this house that I am going to buy? The economy is in the crapper, what if I can’t keep up with my hefty mortgage payments? And as a long-time renter, can I really imagine putting MOST of my earnings into my mortgage payment? And marriage: I am already in a partnership. Am I less “adult” if I don’t feel like getting married? Certainly, most would say “No. No. To each their own.” But really, getting married has its own ethos; it legitimizes your relationship somehow. For some reason, to be a married couple carries more weight then saying “oh yes, this is my boyfriend.” (That is also why getting married is such an important issue to gay people, and why should they be denied that right? But more on that another time.)

So, dear readers, how do we know we “have made it”? I wish there were sign posts along the way to help us figure it out: “This Way!” or “One Way Only (you’re on the right track)”. Like if you are running a long race and you have a team of people on the sidelines cheering for you, “You are almost there! Just one more little hill!” That really does make the race easier. I would be happy with even a little light-bulb moment “ding! ding! ding! You made it!” Just something tangible that I could savor for a single minute so I could breathe a sigh of relief that I finally got there.

But maybe there is no sign, no moment. Maybe it just sneaks up on you, sits down, and settles in, so subtle and so sure that it lingers with you for days, months, or even years, until suddenly you realize you never needed a sign. You realize that you have been here for a very long time after all, and you are actually doing pretty well for a gal not having any directions. I can imagine this would feel like an incredible sense of completion, pride, strength, and wisdom. I’m still watching and wondering…

Welcome to Adulthood.