Thirty. I'm freaking THIRTY years old. And yet, I don't feel like an adult. Even making a living taking care of two elderly people for years, I still feel like a kid who's faking it. I remember freaking out when I turned twenty, thinking the time had come for me to "grow up." As the numbers ticked by, twenty-one, twenty-two, and so on, I figured at some point I would stop pretending to be an adult and just be one. So far that hasn't happened. Even with all the responsibilities I'm juggling. This morning I started my birthday off right, with my grandmother cussing me out and then having to clean up my grandfather's shit. And yet... I still feel like a kid in a trench coat.
It probably doesn't help that I never "outgrew" the stuff I liked as a kid. There's nothing wrong with that, but I never severed the link with my childhood that other people seem to be able to do without remorse.
Fortunately, all the crises going on around me are eclipsing the early midlife crisis I was about to have.
- Reading: Going Postal - Terry Pratchett
- Watching: Iron Fist (later today)
I enjoy being a kid, and you know, the more I embrace my inner kid, the more I like me, and oddly, the more responsible I become. *shrugs* I am who I am, and I hope that you'll come to the same conclusion (preferably before the next decade passes ) and just be you. Who cares what other people think, as long as you can live with you.
Happy birthday, and I hope you'll have many more, and that they'll all be awesome