Remember being a child playing outside in the dirt, and your biggest worry was, will I get to use the best digging shovel next? For children, that’s a real big problem, and it’s been known to cause fights.
I can remember when my older sister and I were kids, we would often be given one drink to share. This was a real big problem for me. So, I used my impeccable kid problem solving skills and I would purposely backwash, right into the can or bottle of whatever we were given to split, causing my sister to be grossed out enough not to want anymore of it. And boom, the drink became mine. Was it worth it to drink my own disgusting backwash in order to get my own beverage? Totally. (Sorry, sister.)
Too bad grown-up problems can’t be as easily solved as spitting into an open bottle to get your way.
I don’t really remember when I felt like I had actually reached adulthood, when I was an actual “grown-up.” Maybe it was when I graduated college or grad school, I’m not sure. Even then, it still felt like college life. Maybe it was when I landed my first “big girl job” within my chosen career field. Or when I got married, or when we bought our first house.
More likely, I think adulthood slapped me in the face when I learned how much of my hard earned income would go toward the student loans I needed to get the degree to get the job I had (how is this even right?). And when I learned that taxes screw you when you’re a responsible, law abiding citizen. And when I learned that there is zero support available or reward for people who actually work to pay their own bills.
That is adulthood. It’s all about the Benjamin’s, and it sucks. But I wouldn’t give up my education, my job, my home, my marriage, my fur babies. Not for a second. I worked my ass off for all of it and I continue to do so. Still, adulthood can feel like one big trap. It’s got ahold of me with a death grip and it’s not letting go.
What’s a grown-up to do? Well, the only thing I can do. Get up, go to work, come home, pay the bills, repeat. Because that’s what grown-ups do. And I’m a grown-up. There’s no back-washing my way out of this, although I wouldn’t recommend sharing a drink with me.
I’m going to go play in the dirt, with the best shovel, because I’m a grown-up. And if some kid won’t share the best digging shovel with me, I can just go to the store and buy myself one. Ha! Take that, childhood!