At some point, someday, I imagine that I might feel like an adult. I’ve been trying for years. When I was a teenager, I was convinced there would be some magical sensation at the point of turning 18 years old, that would make me feel free and invulnerable. If you’ve read this blog, you must know that that feeling never happened. It’s come in clips and phrases over my life, trickling in when it can, but I still don’t feel like an adult, most of the time.
This morning, I realized I was narrating my life in my head again. I often wonder if this is a curse that other writers (not sure I still identify as one, though I’d like to…does this count as “writing”?) suffer/enjoy. I find that my narrative would probably be most accessible to teenaged girls, which only serves to make me feel even less grown up.
But also, this morning, I heated up some bone broth. I sipped some tea. I made an omelette in my cast iron pan. I cleaned and put away some dishes. I did it all in my two bedroom apartment that I share with my boyfriend and overweight cat. I did it all before leaving for my full-time job on the scooter that I paid for. I am definitely still growing, and I don’t think I should ever stop, but if that’s not adult-life, I don’t know what is.
What I wore (best friend’s wedding): French Connection Ribbon-knit dress (a couple seasons old), pumps from Payless (gift), pashmina scarf (gift), thrifted pendant (owned for a long time), old earrings (gift).
The outfit cost me $60 for the dress (50% off at TJ Maxx), basically. It was definitely worth the splurge (not that it was THAT expensive, just that I should not have spent the money). I felt and looked DAMN sexy. We had a blast and I’m so glad that I got to go.
Before anyone tells me that pink hair is not very “adult”, just go look at this amazing woman (who happens to be a writer).