Something just isn't right. I'm not an adult, am I?
I'm married, for one. Doesn't that automatically put me in the adult category? I'm responsible for my own actions. If I break the law, I pay the fine; I go to jail. I no longer rely on my parents for such defenses. Do these things make me an adult?
I guess I always expected to reach a point in life where there was a definitive transition from adolescence to adulthood. A defining moment, if you will. I mean, it happened when I transitioned into adolescence from childhood; I got my pubes, now I'm an adolescent. Easy peasy Japanesey. No such luck with the adult thing.
I would have even accepted a sudden realization that adulthood had sneaked up on me over a longer period of time when I was ignorant its conniving treachery. But still, no such luck. I'm still waiting on that realization, even after much self-examination. I'm still not an adult in the sense that I've always perceived adults in my mind. Don't take me wrong, I'm no different than any of the other adults I know. I have a mortgage. I own a car. I have a real job, with benefits. I pay insurance and taxes. But still, something's different. There's still something there separating me from the likes of my Mom or Dad, my teachers of old. Something intangible, but definitely perceptible.
Adults are old. Adults don't know how to have fun. Adults worry. Adults get embarrassed when you misbehave in Wal-Mart. Adults go to bed before 2am. Adults are too scared to jump. Adults are too tired to play. Adults are a whole score of things that I'm not.
I guess I'm beginning to discover that "adult" is only a mystical label that children give their parents. Sure, I have a job and bills to pay, places to be; but I get the feeling that even when I'm ninety, I won't feel "grownup". I haven't changed much since high school, I'm still the adventurous free spirit with a twisted sense of humor that I always was.