(quiet on the set, please!) Adulthood: Take Two!

I think I finally put my finger on the real root of my urge to simplify and slow down. You see, I found out Sunday that I have advanced adultitis.

At least according to Jason Kotecki. Jason is a 28-year-old cartoonist, blogger, and the author of Escape Adulthood: 8 Secrets from Childhood for the Stressed-Out Grown-Up. The reason I found out about him, though, is because there was a link to his Escape Adulthood Manifesto in the latest Change This newsletter ... one of the few that's survived my recent pruning. The manifesto is a summary of Jason's book and is available as a free download here (you'll need Adobe Acrobat). I'll share a few tidbits, but I really hope you'll go and read it when you have time. It's so good.

It starts off like this ...

Remember when meetings were held under a tent made of couch cushions and blankets, and candy was worth more than any mutual fund? If you think really hard, I bet you can. When we were kids, we had an innate ability to tackle life head on. Everything seemed to simple and uncomplicated ...

What the heck happened? ...

Then he goes on to hit the nail squarely on the head:

It doesn't take long before we all come to a realization: adulthood sure isn't what it was cracked up to be. It's way more complicated than advertised. Technology was supposed to make our lives easier. Perhaps it has, to some degree, but can I get a show of hands from anyone whose life is simpler? Or who has more time on their hands thanks to this blazing technology? Anyone?

Things like e-mail and junk mail, deadlines and divorce, mortgage payments and car payments, taxes and heart attacks, have dampened all of the unbridled fun we were supposed to have when we grew up. The whole "living on your own" and "living by your own rules" dream hardly materialized the we way we imagined it would.

Oh yeah ... and then there's taking the car to inspection ... and getting the fireplace flu and dryer vents cleaned (which we now have to do by Oct., per the new neighborhood association rules) ... and filling out the U.S. American Community Census Survey (for which I was lucky enough to be picked at random, but am required by law to fill out) ... or the yearly mammogram ... or the twice-a-year dentist visit (which I thought was only going to be for a cleaning, but now also needs to deal with the tooth I chipped last week) ... or the big annual FAFSA extravaganza ( ... if you don't have college-age children, you don't know what you're missing there) ... or making sure to renew the dogs' town licenses every year (which of course requires vet visits to keep the shots up to date) ... and so on, and so on. I mean, have you noticed how much life-administration stuff one has to deal with as an adult? Was this all spelled out in the fine print somewhere in our 'Welcome to Adulthood' manual?

And that, my friends, is what I'm talkin' about. And it's why I'm consistently trying to chip away at the stuff that conspires to keeps me squarely in 'adult' mode so much of the time ( ... why does this suddenly brings up images of a guy trying to bail out a sinking boat with a little tin cup, I ask you?)

Now really, I have a wonderful life with much to be grateful for, and I have made great strides -- and some sacrifices -- to march to my own beat and take the road less traveled. In fact, I'm sure I'm a lot less encumbered than a lot of other people, but still, like Jason says, what the heck happened? Childhood was this carefree, play-filled, curiosity-laden period that lasted all of, oh, a quick blink of an eye (... okay, maybe it wasn't all that idyllic, but compared to adulthood it sure seems that way), and then BAM ... Welcome to Adulthood. Would you like Prozac with that?

Maybe the reason this theme seems to be playing at top volumue for me right now is that, truth be told, I think my childhood was really short. It's not that there was any major tragedy that brought it to an abrupt halt, thank goodness. It was just ... well, stuff.

When we lived in the middle of nowhere in Spain, I would go out the door and play in endless fields, make mud-pies, gather up snails for a day-long race up the wall at the back of our house, and play hop-scotch for hours before crawling into bed exhausted from spending all day in the fresh air. My afternoon snack, which mom would sometimes hand me through the window because I was having too much fun to come in, consisted of a crusty baguette spread with either Nutella, or butter and sugar (healthy, huh?), or -- get this -- deviled ham that she squeezed out of something akin to a toothpaste tube. We didn't have a refrigerator, a TV, or a car. I didn't have a computer or, as Jason kids, a Fisher-Price Palm Pilot. Heck, we didn't even have running water to the house until I was about five or six.

We moved to the U.S. when I was eight, prompted by an aunt and uncle who were American citizens and really wanted us to move here (and legally sponsored us ... we didn't sneak into the country, just for the record). The day we arrived I had my very first popsicle. It was orange-flavored, and I had no idea how you were supposed to eat it or even open it. My cousins had to show me how. It was a whole new world. I didn't speak the language, and neither did my parents or sister. We moved into a tiny little one-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a building down the street from my aunt, uncle, and three cousins (with not a field in sight). A month or two after we arrived, the adults in this story had a falling out (the cause of which I still don't know to this day) and never spoke again. So, even though they were the only people we knew here, and our three cousins were just around the corner, they were not allowed play with us (or vice versa ... not sure which).

My father worked two jobs, and my mother worked too, cleaning houses. My sister and I were home alone after school, with strict orders not to go anywhere or open the door to anyone, and so I became addicted to TV, watching Concentration and Joker's Wild and Password. It's how I learned English ... and because I picked up English pretty quickly (as kids are prone to do), I also had to play interpreter for my parents sometimes at the store or in other social situations, which was absolutely the most mortifying experience ever.

When I wasn't watching TV, and my parents were still at work, I would go into the one sole bedroom, close the door, put on my sister's Tom Jones or Engelbert Humperdinck records, and dance in front of the dresser mirror (can you say 'major geek alert?'). Or, when I wasn't doing that, I would hang out the kitchen window, eating Fritos, watching the cars and people down below ... until the boy with the bedroom directly across the street (who may have been about 12 or 13) started parading around in front of the open window with nothing on below the waist. Yikes. Gee, I wonder if Mom ever saw him doing that ...

School was also a whole different ballgame here. Instead of one teacher in one room all day, I had to move around to five or six different teachers and classrooms. And I had to ride a schoolbus, which I had never done before. Well, that didn't last. I got sick and threw up the first time or two, and after that, Dad had to walk me the mile or so to school every day. Louise Hay's book, You Can Heal Your Life, says the emotional root of nausea is fear, a feeling like things are out of your control -- and things certainly felt like they took a big out-of-control leap when we moved. Not that I would change the fact that we came to live in the U.S., but it was a lot all at once for my little 8-year-old self to assimilate.

Eventually I made a friend, Toni, who had moved here from England, even though she and her parents were Italian. We would go to her house after school, eat Ring Dings and Yodels with 7-Up, then fill up water balloons and torment a couple of cute boys on her street. Or we gushed over Teen Beat and Tiger magazines, or went to the local library to sneak back into the corner where there were a few (kids') books that explained what 'sex' was, with little cartoon pictures. We had some wonderful times, and we're still friends today.

At 12, right after I started Junior High and had finally gotten used to riding the school bus without losing my cookies, though, we moved again ... this time to a large two-bedroom apartment in the suburbs of Philly. The kids were different here. The neighbor's kid downstairs (who was in 8th grade) smoked pot, and so did a lot of other kids in 7th and 8th grade, it seemed. There were cliques and after-school fights and 'dates' (not for me, since I wasn't allowed, but for other kids). It was all a little scary to me, frankly, so I just kept a low profile. And High School was more of the same, with some slight variations. I excelled in academics, worked at Herman's Sporting Goods (remember them??) and tried to act as much like a responsible adult as possible, since I didn't really fit in with my peers.

I would have to say that my college years were really about the only time when I had the freedom and 'perks' of adulthood without all the responsibilities. So why oh why did I push ahead and graduate early instead of stretching it out to five, six, seven years or more?? Oh, I know why ... because in my sophomore year I met the man who would become my husband, who was two years ahead of me, and I got married right after college (at 21). And then I got a job, where I had to travel (a lot!), and bought a car, and then became a home-owner, and then became a mom at 24. And then I joined the corporate world (in an effort to work 'shorter hours,' ha!), and then I got promoted, and promoted again, and spun-off two times, and divorced, and changed careers, and bought my own home, and started my own business ... and woke up one day, two weeks shy of my 44th birthday with this really yucky condition called adultitis ( ... and what is it about birthdays that brings up all that angst, anyway?)

Really, being an 'adult' all these years has served me well in many ways, but Sunday when I read about adultitis in Jason's little manifesto I felt like one of those people whose 'affliction' is finally given a name. It doesn't change things and it doesn't make it curable, necessarily, but now at least they know they're not just going crazy. If it has a name then there's at least ONE other soul out there suffering with you. Anyone?

So, what's a poor weary adult to do? Well, Jason shares eight ways to 'escape adulthood' -- traits from childhood that he feels are inherent in all of us ... natural instincts that we never really lose (even though they may feel dead and buried), just like those that tell birds to fly south for the winter, and where to look for worms.

I don't want to give away his eight ideals, because I'd really like you to go check it out on your own, but I'll share one more brief tidbit, this one from #1: Delight in the Little Things:

... Kids are routinely surprised by how cool life is. It is not uncommon for them to be absolutely THRILLED by such things as a lightning bug in captivity, the intricacies of a snowflake, and the giddiness of taking a bubble bath. They're turned on my helium balloons, bedtime stories, and cereal box prizes.

... which reminds me, remember when cereal boxes had a 45 right ON the box? The grooves were embossed (or debossed) on a round clear-plastic disc that was glued to the back of the box. You had to cut it out and then you could actually play it on your record player ... the kind where the top folded down over the turntable and had a handle so you could carry it around like a little suitcase. I'll never forget how upset I was when I tried to cut out a Bobby Sherman record and nicked the edge off, thereby ruining it (or at least the first 30 seconds of it!). It spoiled the whole day ... but it was infinitely nicer to have a day spoiled by that than by finding out about the horrific crime that took place two weeks ago in the town where I used to live, like I did last week in Lisa's thoughtful post. I was deeply bothered and haunted by this story for days.

I know there's no way to get around adulthood, really. Not unless I hit the lottery or fake my own disappearance, and even then there are strings ( ... like having to cut grass as part of your community service, like the runaway bride did yesterday). No, adulthood's here to stay. It makes me think of this genius quote from Ram Dass, which I'm paraphrasing here:

"Stay off the spiritual path as long as you possibly can. Because once you're on it, you can't go back, and you can't even feign ignorance anymore."

So okay, we can't be six anymore, but maybe there's a way to keep the adultitis bug under control and at least take another run at adulthood -- the way it was 'supposed' to be. One of Jason's recent posts asks readers for opinions on a new t-shirt they're putting out. It says 'Childhood (take two)' ... but really, I think maybe it should be called Adulthood (take two), and it should combine the best of both worlds ... childhood and adulthood. The play, the fun, the joie de vivre of a child with the freedom and savvy smarts of a grown-up -- with none of the things that can be such a drag, like the long auto-insurance renewal form that's been staring at me for two weeks because I can't decide whether I should get the $15,000 or the $1,000,000 PIP (Personal Injury Protection) Medical Expense Limit ... or one of the other four options in between. And that's just on page 1. On page 2, I get to figure out which of the 18 'PIP Non-Medical Benefits' options I want for the next year.

So, anybody up for a good old-fashioned water-balloon fight, followed by a nap, followed by staying out really late at Musikfest listening to loud music and eating bad food?

Let's go. I'm not getting any younger.

Comments

[Lisa Taylor Huff]

First, I'm finding 44 to be really fabulous so far, so don't dread it... it's GREAT! This may sound loopy but 4+4=8 and 8 on its side is INFINITY, so I feel like 44 is filled with infinite possibility. (Just like a coach to always look on the bright side of life... or was that a Spamalot flashback from last night's trip to the bright lights of Broadway - what a GREAT show!)

Second, I think I picked one of the middle PIP options myself, but I can't remember which one. (One of the signs of aging is forgetting things...) You shouldn't think about insurance problems around your birthday. It's boring. Throw yourself a party instead! (I dare you to hit John with a water balloon...)

Lastly, in reading your story I am reminded of the kind of courage it takes for someone to pack up and move to another country where you don't know the language and don't fit in culturally, and the impact of that decision on someone's life as they try to adjust. Even though as a child it wasn't your choice, I know the person you are TODAY, and you ARE that person because you went through that experience.

Welcome to 44, babe!

[Marilyn]

Maria, this is one of my favorite posts you've ever written...and boy, can I relate. :) I loved the backstory of your childhood...so interesting. I'd never thought specifically in those terms--about having our childhoods cut short. But I suppose I'd fall into that category too, under different circumstances. My mother left when I was 14 and I was suddenly told that everything she had done was now my responsibility (even bill-paying!) As a result, I've spent most of my adulthood AVOIDING becoming an adult in so many ways...moving constantly, switching jobs (and fields!) at a dizzying pace, avoiding a serious relationship until I turned 40, etc. Even so, I STILL rebeled. That's the only way I can explain things like sleeping in a tent in the backyard in the summertimes (when we lived in Portland) or buying a hula-hoop at Wal-Mart the other day. And the older I get, the more my inner child screams to come out. I'm going to read Jason's manifesto right now.

P.S. Given 'adultitis,' why oh why were we so desperate to be 'grown up' when we were kids?! :)

[kat]

When I told the kids last night how old I turned (29) a few weeks ago, they both exclaimed that I didn't act like I was 29. Heh, I decided to take that as a compliment. I've always been one to marvel at the little things. Sometimes I think I had a delayed childhood because mine was also very short. But I think maybe it's not a delayed childhood, but an adulthood that doesn't take itself too seriously.

I absolutely loved hearing about your life Maria. What a fascinating tale! Where in Spain did you grow up? I lived in Spain as an exchange student when I was 15 with a family who lived in Mosteles (part of Madrid.) I was just thinking last week about how much of the language I've lost since then with noone to speak with and how I'd like to pick it up again.

[Will]

Well, here's how I've figured out the life thing. You have all the joy you describe as children but without the freedom (or judgment to handle that freedom).

Then you get into your 20s and you get the freedom but are still working on the judgment mostly---so you make a lot of mistakes.

Then in the 30s many people have the now found the judgment, but are burdened with the consequences of the mistakes from their 20s. So you spend your 30s recovering from your 20s.

By your 40s, as long as you've had a pretty straight trajectory along this path---you should now have your judgment, your freedom, and have mostly recovered from cleaning up the mess. Let the party begin!

So, by this analysis, Life truly begins at 40. So you’re in the fun part! Enjoy! (I kinda think you are--and figuring out more and more ways to enjoy it everyday. Then generously sharing them with us on your website).

I've always loved those stories where the wise older person and the wide-eyed, wonder-filled child share the most common ground---and the older person is able to be the guide to the the child, showing the ignored joys and magic all around in the world because he's rediscovered it in his age. He's remembered what's important just in time to have not missed out on it.

A good place to be. Let it be, let it be, let it be.

[Deb]

LOVE this post. (and yeah, i MIGHT like a little prozac with my super sized case of adultitis...)

Noticed the change in your banner...what other new delights can we expect from this Adulthood: Take Two perspective?

Looking forward to seeing; what fun, what fun! :)

[Rebekah]

WONDERFUL, Maria. Personally, I am taking as many antidotes to the condition as the law allows. But people tend to look at you really funny when you start ridding yourself of the symptoms. I guess we're stuck here, and I guess, all in all, it's not such a HORRIBLE disease to have, as long as it is conscientously contolled!