Being a grown-up is an evolving state of mind, a spectrum of attitudes. No matter how old you are, you get to choose how you respond to the things of life.
I think that immaturity can be quite charming, unless I’m dating it. I myself am pretty cute when I’m being immature. Or not.
I’ve always been drawn to the rebellious song from Peter Pan, “I won’t grow up; I’ll never grow up.” I still occasionally jut out my jaw and clench my fists and run a few stanzas of it through my mind before I acquiesce to maturity.
Today I’m responding to a WordPress challenge that’s much easier than the one prompting my 1,000 word tome without a Y in it. I won’t say I’m annoyed that most responders wrote less than 200 words, because grown ups don’t get annoyed about things like that. So here is today’s Daily Prompt:
When was the first time you really felt like a grown up (if ever)?
The Mockingbird’s Song
I remember the moment quite clearly. It happened to be my birthday.
I was 24 years old. I’m sure I was tired; working full-time for rent and college tuition, my days starting before 6 a.m. with late classes ending at 9:30 p.m.
I had just survived a grueling two-hour meeting with the deans from all the departments at the University of Maryland. I had designed my own major, and God knows they did not want me to have that kind of flexibility and autonomy without making me suffer for it.
I had argued with the Dean of Biology about whether or not the world had a “population problem” (I said yes) and with the Dean of the Math Department about whether or not I needed calculus. (Truth be told, one of the reasons I designed my own major was to escape those dreaded math courses!)
But I had persevered. My program — the first of its kind at the school — had been approved. It’s hard to believe now that “Environmental Studies” was a unique major in 1979, but there you have it.Very few students bothered to pursue the option of designing a separate major, but I had done it. All by myself.
I sat under a blooming dogwood tree on the mall at Maryland and wept tears of joy. On the branch above me, a mockingbird sang as if his breast would burst. I knew the feeling.
I was a competent grown up, I had choices, and nothing could stop me now. I had arrived.
Of course, I wasn’t all grown up, and I have displayed some of my most immature behavior in the years since that day under the dogwood. I’ve done some damage to my psyche and to the psyche of others.
Perhaps you have, too. I’ve noticed that a lot of people come to my website by way of Google searches about shame or guilt.
For what it’s worth, I recently came across this checklist of the attributes of maturity. See what you think:
- Knowing myself.
- Asking for help when I need it and acting on my own when I don’t.
- Admitting when I’m wrong and making amends.
- Accepting love from others, even if I’m having a tough time loving myself.
- Recognizing that I always have choices and taking responsibility for the ones I make.
- Seeing that life is a blessing.
- Having an opinion without insisting that others share it.
- Forgiving myself and others.
- Recognizing my shortcomings and my strengths.
- Having the courage to live one day at a time.
- Acknowledging that my needs are my responsibility.
- Caring for people without having to take care of them.
- Accepting that I’ll never be finished – I’ll always be a work-in-progress.
Agree? Disagree? How do you measure up?
Mockingbird and Dogwood photos courtesy of U.S. Fish and Wildlife