So busy has been an understatement the last few months as I wrapped up grad apps and started back into research. [Fortunately all the stress of the application process turned out to be useful – I’m in! In September I officially start my Masters!!] Don’t get me wrong, I am beyond excited to have been accepted into grad school, but at this point I am mildly terrified. When I moved to Ottawa, I moved close to my brother and my dad’s side of the family so it wasn’t as scary. Looking back on it I feel like I am in the exact same place now as I was then – a room full of boxes and a huge move in the works. Except now I am an Adult. I am expected to be mature enough to not be terrified by the prospect of moving 4 hours from anyone I know. Or you know I think that was tucked somewhere in the fine print of the contract.
So basically I spend my days waffling between:
But I mean somewhere in there is me figuring out this whole Adult thing.
I’ve been working for a year with my parents and it still throws me off though when people come to me as a sort of authority in things at work. When people come to me for direction.
This shift back to grad school has always been my plan, but I meant a plan and reality it turns out are two very different things. Now that I have packed up and officially moved out of Ottawa and am actively hunting for apartments, I am coming to realize the identity shift that came with all these plans coming to fruition. I submitted a review of my supervisor’s grant proposal Friday morning and realized that my opinion is being taken into account. I am no longer a passive learner expected to bathe in the glorious knowledge of my professors. I am expected to have an opinion and be able to cogently defend it. I am also expected to know what cogently means (legit – it was a word in the GRE Vocab list). I am expected to further the knowledge of my field and create a sense of confidence in my abilities. I am being trained to help people mentally heal. That’s a lot of responsibility for a lowly twenty-something.
I am now an adult, but what is that? I still have little understanding of how mortgages really work. I don’t understand the benefit of fixed over variable mortgage rates. And I only learned how to drywall two weeks ago. I was 21 before I learned to change a tire. Living in residence, my basement apartment, and the house I eventually settled in were progressively independent ventures, but this feels different. This is me. Financially independent. Responsible for every bill. Calling around for insurance rates and driving in an overly cautious manner to maximize my insurance discount (and calling them to complain when the guy in front of me slammed on his brakes. But it’s not my faullltttt!). Me, as an adult. 4 hours from literally anyone I know. On my own.
Of course I am filled with paranoia – what if something goes wrong? My toilet is running uncontrollably? My car won’t start? Problem with being in a lot of university programs is that they are great for preparing you for your career. I can talk about psychology for days. I love psych. Problem is that “Quantitative Methods in Psychology I/II” didn’t cover filing your taxes and balancing the budget. There was no “Dealing with minor plumbing problems” or “Why Your Car Won’t Start 101” in my program. So I am adult, but in many ways I still feel like I am meant to be supervised. It drives me nuts that my mom still reminds me to look both ways before crossing the street and reminds me how to properly wash dishes, but am I totally ready to be a independent responsible adult?
Let’s look at the facts:
- Every day I wave hello to the pigmy goats, llamas, and other farm animals on my way to and from work.
- I still giggle every time I think of the goat I saw running around the farm yard that skidded in the snow when he attempted to stop.
- After searching for a pigmy goat picture to portray the view on my drive to work (did I mention they also have miniature reindeer and big fluffy llamas that sit facing the road?!) I spent a further 10 minutes giggling over photos of baby farm animals.
- The closest I have come to doing laundry lately is putting things in the machine and turning it on. The clothes mysteriously appear folded in my room after 24 hours
- Last week I yelled at my fish for not eating.
- I cede my pillow to my cat on a nightly basis.
- I fully believe timbits are an acceptable breakfast.
- I haven’t made my bed in 5 days except for the morning after I had a particularly fitful sleep I rearranged the sheets to be at least on the bed.
- It took me those 5 days to put away the clothes that had mysteriously appeared the week before.
- My carry-on sized suitcase is still half packed because I am too lazy to finish the job (I’m living in box city right now thanks to this half-moved state. What’s one more box?!)
- The muffler of my car broke two weeks ago (of course in the middle of no where!) and I had no freaking clue what to do about it, whether it was driveable, or how much it would cost.
Okay so it looks pretty bad, but I mean I’ve lived solo before. I remember to feed the cat (okay, when she very loudly demands I remember. But I remember to buy the food. Mostly.) I’ve got the grocery shopping thing nailed. I can cook and bake things. I know how to do laundry (even if I elect not to do it as frequently as my mother feels I should). Worst case, I know how to make really tasty icing for bad days. Shouldn’t be that bad? [For the record, the dedication to fill the fridge and use its contents to make delicious things are how I rationalize my lack of attention to the laundry. It’s a fair trade.].
Either way, ready of not, here it is. I am an adult. I am expected to pay my taxes, vote (and not just by inni-meeny-minee-moe, using a real, informed opinion), renew licenses and health cards in a timely manner, show up to work on time, to be accountable to something/someone other than my childish whims. They say the devil is in the details, and maybe I haven’t got the sense of responsibility sorted out just yet, but baby steps. You know. Figure out how to do the dishes before I run out of plates.
I am an adult. Hear me roar. Or mew like a kitten.
Yeah. Let’s go with mewing.
At least I figure out that I put on my big girl panties sometime in the last 4 years without noticing.
Whether I realized it or not, maybe I figured out adulthood a long time ago.