kethrai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Coming of Age So Jenny is turning 21, and has asked a number of folks to write coming of age stories, or anything, really, regarding getting older. And I rather wish I had better news, but you know? Turning 21 was pretty anticlimactic for me. At 21, I was….in college, supporting the Psycho Ex emotionally, physically—with food and care packages, and financially to the limit of my college-student self. In fact, I remember that time as mostly everything crumbling and having neither the tools, the money or the maturity to begin fixing it. There was nothing new at 21 to mark the day—it was more of the same. Voting? Been doing that since I was 18. Drinking? Older boyfriend who could buy if I wanted it, not a huge drinker anyway. There was no rite of passage to mark 20 to 21, from faux-adult to full adult. 21 as a Significant Date was pretty much a wash, really. I find it funny that in this day and age, in this country, that we even regard 21 as any kind of milestone anymore. (Sorry, Jenny, I know you’re Not From Here, but you know what I mean.) The extended childhood and dependence that a traditional college student (traditional in the sense of going to college directly after high school) experiences, either upon parents for funds, or grants for funds, tends to make “adulthood” a bit of a joke until later in your 20’s. Even folks I know who didn’t go to college often as not had an extended amount of time living in the parental home after 18. The number of folks I know who left home at 18 (or earlier) and made a go of it I can count on the fingers of one hand. That may be more an indication of the community I move in, rather than a national trend or anything, but it’s what I’ve seen. I always thought being an adult would involve all the responsibilities I would have, and the jobs I would do (rather surprisingly Calvinistic and grim view for a little nipper, I guess) when in actuality, what I’m finding as I grow older is that I have a little more freedom to pick and choose what I do…or not.. My rather strict upbringing was necessary to inculcate some kind of spine—but it also is a relief to now choose to do or not do things that were expected coin when I was growing up. I don’t have to eat onions anymore, and I can sit on the couch to eat pizza with my fingers. In a way, I date my REAL coming of age to when I was 25. When I graduated college at 22, it was the midst of the early nineties recession and I could not get a job other than retail for two years. The year I turned 24, I landed a teaching job, moved to a new city, dumped the Evil Ex, and did a whole bunch of things that were utterly new, not part of the holding pattern and not part of my previous life. I learned to live independently, a little. While the two years I lived in the city were not the best time of my life by far, they were necessary to my sense of life and independence. To complete the process, I had my ears pierced three more times and my navel pierced and bought a leather jacket. Kethrai’s teenaged rebellion, ten years too late. But when I think about the phrase “coming of age”, it really doesn’t have much to do with independence, per se—although that’s a part of it; or with drinking or driving ages at all. “Coming of age” to me seems to ring with finding the courage to do the thing you have wanted to do for a while. “Coming of age” means accepting the risk and the responsibility, but also the reward and the gift. Lois Bujold’s character, Miles Vorkosigan, talking about his congenital birth defects, says “Mother calls it my great gift…. Each trial that we undergo is a test, but also a gift. And to refuse the test, is to refuse the gift.” There are many gifts that coming of age has given me, each in its own time—the great gift of confidence, of brains, of a certain amount of common sense, of enough patience finally to persist in an art form long enough to make something beautiful. Each of these were painfully won—and can slip away at any moment—but still are great gifts that I am enriched by having possessed, even if it’s not a permanent possession. Perhaps another of my great gifts—or tests—is to finally accept, somewhere within me, that nothing is forever, and perhaps it is better so. In that sense, I think we’re all of us coming of age all the time. It awes and astounds me to see women of my mother’s generation taking up something new, and learning something new—oftentimes 40 years after their parents dismissed that same activity as frivolous or not worth pursuing. Want to paint for the first time at 40? Yay! Taking up poetry at 50? Yay! Learning to drive, getting a college degree, playing guitar, drumming for a klesmer band? Go ye forth and carpe the diem for the sake of love and little fishes. Coming of age= coming into the age where your choices are your own. There are periods of time when I feel I am slipping back into a childhood mode, when I slip into a world composed only of “should” and not of “can”. When I get overwhelmed, it is usually because I’ve taken on too many of the expectations of others, and I’m not fulfilling enough of what I expect of myself. It’s always little, conventional things—getting the parking sticker for the car, getting the car registered and inspected, doing laundry…mix that with social obligations and I just go into meltdown. I let things pile up, and then am too overwhelmed to deal, and I end up feeling like I’m twelve. Or 21—with none of the tools to fix what I was finally old enough to see was broken. I suspect that my next test will be to learn how to do things a bit at a time, and not to try to do everything at once, ending in Chaos and Dismay. (Dammit, how DO people do that, anyway? That slow and steady wins the race thing? Screw that. Honestly. I never got it.) There are a whole stack of moldy old philosophers who say the same sort of thing--you are truly grown up when you allow yourself to be childlike. I always wanted to boot their pontificating asses into orbit, but there you go--all the wisdom of the ages in one soppy bit. The trick to coming of age is allowing yourself to be the child that probably you never were--or perhaps, that never did exist. The child who experiments, plays, takes risks. The child who tries new things, who is okay with falling down and banging their knees every so often. The child who keeps her eyes wide open. The child who thinks that grownups are silly, because, you know, they are. Happy birthday, Jenny. Happy coming of age. And may you continue to do so again and again, with great tests and great gifts. I feel a little bit like the dark fairy at the christening--but it's important to say--grow. Change. Live. 21, 32, the Age of Alexander...dance and pray and win and lose. Don't be afraid to make your own mistakes, and don't be afraid to bail yourself out of them. Dear NSR's--you too. Whatever age you are, I wish you a most wondrous and magic-filled coming of age. 8:52 p.m. - 2002-10-21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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