As a child, the thrill of growing up is intoxicating. At 3, you yearn to be 5, ruling the kindergarten realm. By the time you’re 5, the allure of being 10 beckons, with homework and late bedtimes that feel like freedom. At 10, you find yourself envious of the teenagers who seem to have it all figured out. During your teen years, dreams of a driver’s license, college acceptance, and independence fuel your ambitions. As you transition to college, the focus shifts to becoming a decision-maker and provider. Finally, adulthood looms—marriage, children, a home, a dog. It all feels like the ultimate destination in life.
Some of you might feel you’ve arrived. You might gaze into the mirror, hands on your hips, and declare, “I’ve made it. I’m an ideal adult.” Perhaps you embody the confident professional, the perfect partner, the organized mom, always dressed impeccably and on schedule. If that describes you, feel free to click away now. Seriously.
For me, the moment I crossed into adulthood—the supposed start of a well-structured life—I was hit with nostalgia. I longed to be 3 again, with pigtails and pajamas as my everyday attire. Or perhaps 5, racing on a Big Wheel, or even 10, blissfully unaware of the complexities of taxes and relationships. Suddenly, my teenage years seemed golden, filled with unrecognized beauty and carefree days. College, too, seemed like a paradise where my time was mine to spend pursuing knowledge or living a spontaneous lifestyle, like relishing cold pizza for breakfast.
Throughout my childhood, I believed that adulthood would come with a treasure trove of answers. I thought I would possess unwavering confidence and an instinct for decision-making. The reality? At 46, I’m still searching for answers. I’m not as tall as my parents, nor do I possess their unwavering confidence or knowledge. Yes, I’m technically an adult, but I find myself second-guessing decisions and often seeking advice from others—like calling my mom for outfit suggestions. My husband and I frequently debate where to take the kids for spring break until it’s too late to make plans.
Despite our best efforts, we can’t escape the whimsical nature of spontaneity. We are the parents who decide on the first day of vacation to embark on a 1,200-mile road trip to Florida. More than once. It’s almost as if we should have been riding Big Wheels instead.
This makes me wonder, would we truly enjoy those picture-perfect family vacations where everyone wears matching outfits and follows a meticulously planned itinerary? A quick analysis reveals that the effort to create such perfection might lead to disappointment.
In those serendipitous moments when inspiration meets imagination, we are shaping our children’s perceptions of adulthood. The reality we present bears little resemblance to the idealized version I once held. Instead, we offer a new definition of life—one filled with spontaneity, joy, and adventure, where age matters less than the feelings we cultivate together.
So, if you’re staring into the mirror and don’t see a superhero ready to conquer the world, there’s no need to despair. It might be time to redefine what it means to be an adult in your eyes.
For me, after all the longing to grow up, I’ve realized that my assumptions were misguided. I can be the adult I want to be: dye my hair blue, wear ripped jeans, serve breakfast for dinner, and embrace the love I have for my family. I can even hop on a Big Wheel if I choose. At any age, that’s the essence of life I desire.
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Summary
This article explores the unrealistic expectations of adulthood, revealing that growing up often leads to more questions than answers. It highlights the importance of spontaneity and joy in defining adulthood, encouraging readers to embrace their unique journey rather than conform to societal ideals.