Sometimes, I feel like I need a membership card to being an adult. It would require hole-punches as I continue to age and do “responsible,” adult things. All sorts of life milestones would deserve a hole-punch: graduate high school, pop. Get a college degree, pop. Learn how to drive, pop. Pay your own rent, pop.
Because as much as I know that I’m an adult, it sometimes doesn’t sink in that I shouldn’t feel like I’m still a teenager.
Today, I feel like Walt and I got a big ol’ punch on our Being a Grown-Up Membership Card. We strode into a car dealership, paid for a used Honda Accord in cash, and drove out of there with a new car. Walt crashed his scooter earlier this week, and luckily the only casualties were a pair of pants and his 3-year-old iPod. He swore he’d never ride a scooter again and I feel better knowing he’s got a steel cage around him as he navigates the streets.
I feel simultaneously proud-responsible and sick that we were able to pull this off. In talking to my friends and even parents, it turns out that everyone feels a little bit like they’re masquerading as an “adult”… being an adult is a weird concept with an ever-moving target. I’m convinced I’m going to feel like I’m 20 when I’m 80.
In case you missed it earlier this week, I blogged a lovely engagement session featuring Ashley and Sebastian.
Stay safe, my friends!