Peter Pan
Things really were easier when we were kids, weren’t they? As children, our lives were marked by clear signposts guiding us towards the next logical step in our development. The graduation from each elementary school grade to the next was a greater watershed moment than the previous one. Somewhere between third and fifth grade, it wasn’t cool to cry on the playground anymore. Around fourth grade, curse words aren’t rebutted by a hushed “oooooooh, I’m telling” from the recipient.
The signposts became clearer after elementary school. In junior high, anybody who was anybody wore their backpack with only one strap. We were allowed to play with fire for the first time, in chemistry lab and with cigarettes after school in the park. Some of us were finally allowed to watch Letterman.
It’s easy when the markers indicating how one should behave and think are so endemic and lucid. The passing into each stage is marked by greater freedom and greater responsibility. Driving at 16, voting at 18, drinking at 21. In college, we deal with being far from home, dealing with the sometimes frightening independence that is the starkest reminder of how different adulthood is from the fuzzy down blanket of childhood. And even then, the road is clearly mapped. Prerequisites as freshmen, declaring a major as sophomores, traveling abroad as juniors, recruiting for a salary as seniors.
I wish it were as clear after that. For people like me, who get used to the guidance, the years after college are decidedly blurry. There’s no one around who gives a shit about making sure I know how to get to the next step; it’s entirely up to myself. I look around and I see that the world I lived in during college, one of the best times of my life, is slowly morphing into something completely new. The circle of friends, once ripe with cohesiveness and dependability, has now been chipped away by physical and figurative distance, as old friends have moved on to different places and different relationships. It’s a natural progression that is fluid and dynamic, and not marked in an organized fashion by the passage of time. There is no standard age for marriage, for having kids, for buying a house. Yet somehow, we are not supposed to be complete without achieving those things. In a bizarre way, we are still children without them.
Roger got married last year. Analeah is getting married this one. By the end of next year, I’m sure a few more of my friends will be looking at mortgages and joint bank accounts with their new spouses. Relationships change as people must increasingly focus on themselves and their own lives, as the signposts cease to be shown to us by someone else. People like me, still looking for a good time, looking to enjoy those years when I can treat myself too well with as little sacrifice as possible, are decreasing in number. The circle of friends becomes tighter, and sometimes it feels like a noose.
It’s all completely normal of course. After all, after marriage and kids, who has time to hit a bar every weekend? There are payments to be made, other people’s schedules to be upheld. When we look at the way our parents were when we grew up, how many of them still spent time with their friends from childhood and college? I don’t have a problem with this evolution; I’m just curious about when I’m going to be able to move on to the next stage. When do we really know when we grow up? It’s always easier to prepare for something when you know when it’s going to come.
I’m sure these are questions that everyone asks themselves when they realize they can’t just fuck around anymore. I’m asking them now even though I know the answer, which is that no one really knows the answer. It’s a game of touch and feel, like how the old-time cat burglars used to crack a safe. I guess it’s OK that it’s this scary. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be that rewarding at the end of it if it weren’t, right?
You don’t have to answer that.
The signposts became clearer after elementary school. In junior high, anybody who was anybody wore their backpack with only one strap. We were allowed to play with fire for the first time, in chemistry lab and with cigarettes after school in the park. Some of us were finally allowed to watch Letterman.
It’s easy when the markers indicating how one should behave and think are so endemic and lucid. The passing into each stage is marked by greater freedom and greater responsibility. Driving at 16, voting at 18, drinking at 21. In college, we deal with being far from home, dealing with the sometimes frightening independence that is the starkest reminder of how different adulthood is from the fuzzy down blanket of childhood. And even then, the road is clearly mapped. Prerequisites as freshmen, declaring a major as sophomores, traveling abroad as juniors, recruiting for a salary as seniors.
I wish it were as clear after that. For people like me, who get used to the guidance, the years after college are decidedly blurry. There’s no one around who gives a shit about making sure I know how to get to the next step; it’s entirely up to myself. I look around and I see that the world I lived in during college, one of the best times of my life, is slowly morphing into something completely new. The circle of friends, once ripe with cohesiveness and dependability, has now been chipped away by physical and figurative distance, as old friends have moved on to different places and different relationships. It’s a natural progression that is fluid and dynamic, and not marked in an organized fashion by the passage of time. There is no standard age for marriage, for having kids, for buying a house. Yet somehow, we are not supposed to be complete without achieving those things. In a bizarre way, we are still children without them.
Roger got married last year. Analeah is getting married this one. By the end of next year, I’m sure a few more of my friends will be looking at mortgages and joint bank accounts with their new spouses. Relationships change as people must increasingly focus on themselves and their own lives, as the signposts cease to be shown to us by someone else. People like me, still looking for a good time, looking to enjoy those years when I can treat myself too well with as little sacrifice as possible, are decreasing in number. The circle of friends becomes tighter, and sometimes it feels like a noose.
It’s all completely normal of course. After all, after marriage and kids, who has time to hit a bar every weekend? There are payments to be made, other people’s schedules to be upheld. When we look at the way our parents were when we grew up, how many of them still spent time with their friends from childhood and college? I don’t have a problem with this evolution; I’m just curious about when I’m going to be able to move on to the next stage. When do we really know when we grow up? It’s always easier to prepare for something when you know when it’s going to come.
I’m sure these are questions that everyone asks themselves when they realize they can’t just fuck around anymore. I’m asking them now even though I know the answer, which is that no one really knows the answer. It’s a game of touch and feel, like how the old-time cat burglars used to crack a safe. I guess it’s OK that it’s this scary. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be that rewarding at the end of it if it weren’t, right?
You don’t have to answer that.
posted by sushipanda at 4:32 AM
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