I’m the first person to ever write about growing up. Yep. There aren’t millions of books, movies, and blog posts highlighting the discomfort of moving from one place in life to another, and everything I’m about to say is going to be completely original.
So, you’re welcome. Breaking new ground, here, I’m going to talk about growing up.
It’s a cliche by now. “Coming-of-age” movies and young adult novels—growing up is something we all experience. We may not all be Katniss Everdeen overthrowing our corrupt government (although I would appreciate a few pointers…) but we all remember—with great fondness, or great despair— moments in time when we realize life, from now on, is not going to be the same as it had been just a moment ago.
For me, those moments came in waves. Like I was on a boat in the ocean with a map, but with each wave, the map changed languages—like some cruel joke, each wave rearranged the map that I’d been following for years.
I remember the first big wave—when I realized I was going to have to work until I was 70 or dead. I was a waiter at Chili’s. I spilled an entire plate of nachos, and I thought to myself, “I can’t wait until I never have to work again.” Only 50 more years, big guy. The next wave was when I realized that this world doesn’t owe me anything just because I worked hard—graduation isn’t a free pass for a job, and life certainly doesn’t just lay itself out in front of you just because you really want it to. The next crushing wave was the first time I realized that my parents were just humans—like me. The ocean took their map too, and now all they can do is look for something to point them in the right direction.
Is that all my life is meant to be? Aimless wandering? Maybe a few moments of clarity in an otherwise-messy world?
I know I’m sounding pessimistic, and that is NOT the purpose of this blog. If you’ve read any of my other blogs, you’ll know this about me: I love positivity. I love this world. I love people. And I love finding small pockets of positivity in this drab arena.
So my positive spin is this: isn’t there something special about knowing that nobody has this thing figured out? We’re all members of the same team. Every person I ever meet, every story I come across, every lonely sail boat I run into on this great vast ocean is just. like. me. Looking for a lighthouse and trying to translate a soggy map. Sure people may have bigger boats, a shinier telescope, or nautical skills to outmatch myself (am I losing this metaphor?) But we’re all the same. And if anyone tries to convince you they’ve got the map—that they’ve got this world all figured out—then they’re about to get hit with a wave that’ll scramble their map too.
There’s no shame in it. In fact, there’s great freedom in letting go. Don’t be afraid to come to terms with the fact that being lost is the most unequivocally human sensation we can experience.
And, hey, I’m kind of having fun.
But what do I know? I’m not even grown. I’ve just been hit with enough waves to feel like I am.
And I’m all the more grateful for it.
Thanks for listening.
Talk to you soon.
JK