Adulting

I realized I was adulting when I put away a pair of shiny five inch heels in exchange for more practical shoes.  I also realized it when I was stuck with a group of teenagers in the middle of Nashville with an Uber app but no credit card. Or again when we were stranded at a Cook Out fast food joint with no ride, no phone battery, and greasy onion rings. My parents like to make fun of me; they tell me growing up was hard for everybody and I'm not the first person to do it. But I really do have the vague impression that perhaps I am not cut out for this. Perhaps I am like the Titanic, young and proud with dreams too big for my own good. At some point, someone drags us to market, tells us to trade in make-believe for sensibility. It's like driving away from a childhood home: if I turn my head ever so slightly, I can glimpse myself running around in my mom's work pumps, frilly skort, and rainbow sunglasses. I can see myself scribbling away in journals of lined paper, the Creator of my own worlds. All I have to do is turn the steering wheel a little and I could go back to all of that. But oh look -- that's something that's new now. I'm the one sitting behind the steering wheel. Someone convinced my parents to let me drive and here I am weeks away from my license and that magic number -- my 16th birthday. And what about that college tour to the school 8 hours from home with a good pre-med program? When I was younger, growing up was easy. It was going to the mall or movies with your friends or being able to use the stove or not having a bedtime. But now I have all those things and I'm not quite sure what that means. Where do I go from here? Taxes and 401k's and calcium supplements? I guess I'll let you know when I figure it out...