To grow up is to be really brave. You’d
never think it at fourteen. It’s what you always wanted. You would do anything
to get out of that age. Away from school and all those pointless subjects. Live
with your friends and eat sweets every day and it would be like one big
sleepover except who would do the cooking and cleaning and washing and ironing?
If you’re lucky, your parents will teach
you how to do these things, or you learn by just watching them. If you have
older brothers and sisters, that’s good too. If you have younger ones, even
better.
You should know how to do at least one of
those things by the time you’re eighteen. Apparently that’s when you’re an
adult.
Sometimes, I watch those wildlife programmes
that try and be as clever and interesting as David Attenborough with their
commentaries. I wonder how animals cope when they grow up. I bet they forget
all about their mothers, until it comes the time when they have to be mothers,
or fathers. How do they know what to do? Instinct. Must be. Yes. That’s it.
When I “left home” I had to say goodbye to
my mum and sister in front of a crowd of strangers who would soon become
friends, boyfriend and a load of people I’d never speak to again. I cried and
it was embarrassing because I couldn’t go to the bathroom to wash my face or
blow my nose I just had to stop crying without a tissue or anything and then
hang out with these new people who were all quiet and on their mobile phones
and a few of the more socially aware awkwardly making small talk.
I cried when I moved back home as well. Strange,
that. I was like, in limbo between childhood and adulthood. Didn’t know where I
wanted to go or what I wanted to do. Growing up, you get stuck in that
sometimes. You get a bit lost.
University was like one big school trip and
then I had to leave all my friends and a place I had grown quite comfortable in
over the three years I had lived there. I could do whatever I wanted to do. I
went to Tesco in my pyjamas and ate Mcdonald’s, Pizza Hut and chocolate one day
and was sick the next day and cried and felt very sorry for myself in a big
pile of duvets.
If
it’s not fun, why do it? Was my motto. Actually
it’s Ben & Jerry’s motto. A lot of mottos aren’t that good because you
can’t apply them to every single situation in life, and it’s important that a
motto should do that, otherwise, how is it a motto? I didn’t think about much
when I was eighteen. It was easier then.
To grow up is to know yourself and to be
comfortable being on your own. That means – I think – to know what you believe
and what you think is right and wrong. To know who and what makes you happy and
you at your best, and who and what does not.
Being comfortable on your own means you can
sleep at night without having someone lie next to you, or for someone to be
thinking about you, or talking to you, or texting you throughout the day. You
are quite happy to spend the evening in alone, and equally as happy to go out
and spend time with friends. You pretty much never get sad. Grown ups never
cry.
I have been an adult for three years. I can
cook a meal, wash my clothes, clean the bathroom, lock up at night, work and
pay bills, all of that just fine. But anyone can learn to do that. There is something
else that needs figuring out, and perhaps there are people who do not need to –
perhaps it just comes naturally to them, as naturally as the instinct of
animals leaving their mothers and becoming mothers themselves. Maybe they have
something they don’t even realize they have, the natural ability to grow up.
This is such honest, raw writing. It really inspires me. What a great challenge to take part in. (And I totally relate about the disparity between being 18 and being 'grown up')... Keep writing! :)
ReplyDeleteThank you so much :) I am glad it inspires you! I think this whole challenge is inspiring me, too.
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