How do you know you’re a grown up?
To me, the concept of becoming a grown-up always felt a bit dodgy.
Even before I was privy to the teaching of Buddhism, this too shall pass, and life beyond the perimeters of the singular human existence, I was suspicious of the implication behind the word. That there was a definite finish line. A ceiling to growth.
Besides, when I was a child, the behaviors I witnessed amongst grown-ups were not that different from the chaotic blend of cruelty and kindness their kids, who absolutely petrified me in the playground, displayed. Just more restrained and cleverly masked. And most of them looked…well, not exactly happy…so to be a grown-up felt like something that had become frozen, restrained, and a little fake. The polar opposite of my heroine Pippi, whose open, straightforward, curious-about-everything demeanor, to me seemed a much more intelligent model to emulate - despite her fictional status - if you wanted to live a full and happy life.
Since I became a mother, I have tuned my take on it and come to attribute the word grown-up to a varying degree of skill in the practical realm.
I think I understood the ceiling. The finish line: It implies simply taking responsibility for the circumstances you have taken on, and the degree of grown-upness is determined by how well you manage that responsibility.
Motherhood is a shining example. Having my daughter quickly propelled me from being the eternal teen to the - Never mind me, now it’s all about her - stage, which was a huge growth jump and came with difficult growing pains. And through her entry at 35, I slowly started catching up with the rest of the class, acquiring the rudimentary skills of practical living that involve more than eating out a can and living in a suitcase.
The other day I recognized grown-upness in myself in a very concrete way: When I ran out of toilet paper, during a visit at 2 am, I not only took a roll to fulfill my immediate need, but I took four - which I had previously calculated is the perfect number for my toilet roll holder - and filled that baby up at 2 in the morning. And as I completed the task I was struck by the thought: ‘Shit, I suppose this means I’m a grown up…’
It wasn’t my first time acting grown-up. I have - thanks to meditation and 18 years of learning/practice/finally resigning and learning to enjoy the mundane - become quite decent at keeping a neat and tidy existence. But this time it was completely subconscious, I woke up to pee, so I didn’t exactly have my mindful hat on. It was more like a reflex, and I felt…almost proud.
This nocturnal grown-up reflex is something that I cannot see Pippi ever acquiring, and part of me feels the departure of her spirit… But then again, she has a bag full of gold, and if I had that, I too would probably allow for rock star levels of immaturity to conduct my behavior.
I think a large part of it taking me 53 years to develop these rudimentary, practical skills, can be attributed to me having lived in probably more than a hundred flats/houses/communes/bungalow etc. The quality of impermanence is deeply practiced in the nomadic lifestyle, but it certainly doesn’t breed routine and reflex around the mundane, and it’s interesting that the observation of my own grown-upness comes at a time when, once again, I’m afforded the possibility to just go with the flow. One parent is now part of the ocean, the other has all the signs of following in a not very distant future. The kid who just yesterday wouldn’t leave my side, is now ready and rearing for independence, so a large portion of everyday responsibility: The daughter, and every life’s responsibility: The mother, will soon no longer be the protagonists of my existence. The husband is still there, forever & always in our very own unusual way. But that is different. he doesn’t depend on me to live, which daughter and mother still do.
The thought of how going with the flow at this stage in life, how it will feel, is still quite foreign. I’m in the midst of thick circumstance still, so I really have no clue what this midlife journey will bring. I suppose these years looking ahead will be revolving around practice, creativity in various ways, traveling and finally figuring out the meaning of it all. But truthfully, this is the first time that I don’t have a clear idea, no fixed purpose or vision of what is to come. I see the people my age in the homogeneous society I’m in, and truth be told, it does look restful to plan your future in practical steps; Kids out, keep working to support kids/lifestyle/ambition, retirement with carefully chosen characteristics, money in the bank for the funeral…But I think that train has left my station a long time ago. Or rather, that was never my ride.
As I am starting to gaze this new reality in the distance, I can’t help but feel that perhaps I was born with this nomadic karma. After all at 10 months old I was swooped out of my born circumstance and brought into a parallel universe where everyone was blonde, forever branding my rootless soul with the mark of the weirdo, and since that first lucky, lucky flight I haven’t stopped moving. But now I will move with a grown-up sensibility, I can feel it, and the 2 am toilet roll incident confirms it. I’m ready for whatever adventure life has in store, but mostly I want peace and quiet. And is there anything more grown-up than that?