“Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.”
~ Henry David Thoreau
Oh Mr. Thoreau, how wise you are.
I’ve been out of touch the last few days as my internet connection has been spotty, so I’ve been unable to write/post anything until now.
I’m still in the lovely land of Malaysia, having just returned from three days in the the lush and tropical isle of Langkawi. It was a whirlwind trip, and with parents who are more into sightseeing than sunbathing, there was little time for relaxation.
And hence, with all of this parent+1 traveling….
I have come to my next realization: I am not a grown up.
Here’s the deal. I’m thirty-five. Yes, thirty-f’ing-five. I am not married. Have no kids. I have been independent financially since I was twenty-two years old. I have a great corporate America job, and have lived without a roommate for over 10 years. I’ve complained that there are no grown-ups in the LA dating scene. “I just want a grown-a$$ man,” I’ve said, and I get teeny boppers (30 and under crowd) swarming after me. Swing and a miss, every time.
Where are all the grown ups?
Yes. I am attracting non-grown-ups, because…. dun dun dunnnnnn… I am not a grown-up. Holy shiz. Self-realization #3.
Now back to Mr. Thoreau.
I came to this stark realization when I was with my parents, trying to blow dry my hair in the one plug that we had converted, when my mother instructed me to sit down and that she would dry my hair. Quick reminder people: I’m thirty-five.
I love my mom a lot, so I’m not going to bag on this, and in fact, I let her, because who doesn’t like getting their hair did? However, it struck me like a freight train right then and there- I am still a kid.
My life flashed before me in that instant… you know, just like the minute the detective in Usual Suspects figures out that Kevin Spacey is Keyser Söze.
I saw my house with my knick knacky shiz and flea market finds. My inability to commit to any one person. My f’ing backpack (seriously, that thing can hold SO much stuff!). My Fugazi stickers (joking! I’m not that bad). Playing kickball on Friday nights. The flight attendant handing out champagne and skipping over me- because she thought I was too young. Watching one of my cousins here in Malaysia (who, when I visited in 2001 with my then very serious boyfriend who I thought I would marry, was only 10 years old at the time) taking care of her two small children- and me, essentially in the same place I was in 2001. Damn, that is a self-realization if I’ve ever had one.
I was thinking I was ahead of the game. I have a house. I have my sh$% together. Or do I? Maybe I don’t. Maybe it’s high time I grew my own a$$ up so that I can attract that into my life.
Getting (internally) lost in Malaysia made me realize that although I love my parents dearly, and I have all the confidence in the world, I need to grow the f up.
Here’s to me – with a mature twist. After I get home, of course. Mom and Pops still have a few more plans here for me. 😉