When I was young, I was told that my adult years begin when I turn 18. I remember it being used as a reason why I was told no. “When you’re 18 you can do what you like.”
And so the countdown began. I wanted my freedom.
When I turned 18, somehow the bar moved to twenty-one. I remember reminding them of their promise. “At 21, you’d be a full blown adult. Then you can do and undo.”
What was three years more to wait? And again, I started to prepare myself for my “doings”.
When year 21 came, I didn’t have to demand to be set free. I was congratulated by those before me. What an honour I thought. I went out when I wanted to, slept at anytime and wasn’t asked as much questions.
Fast forward to a year later. Responsibility came for dinner with me. It wasn’t the usual wash the dishes. No one needed me to do that. Clean your room. If it were dirty no one cared.
It came with bills to be paid, tasks to be done at work, food to figure out how I’d get, clothes to buy, less sleep to be had. It came with other people to look out for, relationships to maintain, care to give myself. The list continues. It’s not the worst ride but sure not the easiest.
I don’t wish I could go back in time. I wish I allowed myself to enjoy the process.
– Growing older isn’t just about gaining freedom; it’s about discovering the true meaning of love, and responsibility, and finding happiness in the little moments.
Anonymous
