Can I live with my parents at 28 years old and still be an adult? I find myself repeatedly careening toward the great divide between adolescent and adult, between dependent and independent–careening toward and yet never crossing.
I am 28. By almost anyone's standards, this makes me an adult. By Victorian standards, this makes me an old maid. Yet, I am still watching Tangled in my pajamas while eating a bowl of Marshmallow Mateys… that my mom bought for me.
When do you reach adulthood? Many religions and cultures have coming-of-age rituals, from the debutante balls of the American Southwest, confirmation or baptism for Christians, the bar mitzvah and bat mitzvah for Jews, all across the world to circumcision or a betrothal that occurs in other cultures. Other American rituals include the beginning of menstruation, passing the driver's license test, the loss of virginity, a first job, or graduation from high school or college. Some consider marriage or having a child to be the end of adolescence and the beginning of true adulthood: becoming responsible for another living thing. Somehow, none of these do it for me. (I have a cat, but if I died, he'd probably subsist long enough on my bloated and decaying corpse until he suckered someone else into caring for him. He's wily like that.)
Partially, my mudblood heritage of general whiteness is to blame for my feeling adrift in a sea of seemingly competent adults. My family does not celebrate any part of our social/racial heritage. In fact, we aren't entirely certain as to what, exactly, our racial heritage is. We just call it white. There is no line for me to cross
With no adolescent ritual to separate my childhood from my adulthood, with no threshold to cross, I've never found a need to act grownup consistently. Yes, I put on my big-girl pants when I teach, when I present information, or sometimes even with my family. Yet, at the end of the day, I find myself watching cartoons, eating childish cereal, and wondering what a real adult would be doing. It feels as if all of my adult behaviors are simply mimicry of others'. Then I come home, shed those pants, and become myself again. Something forces me into financial independence: a new job, a new romantic situation, or a new living situation. Then, something brings me right back: the end of a term teaching, a breakup, or a makeup. Boomerang. Right back to my childhood bedroom, printed pajama bottoms, and candied cereals on my mom's grocery list.
Maybe I'll find out what it means to be an adult. Maybe all the other adults out there are simply mimicking the behavior of others without really feeling like adults either.
That's where this blog is going to start: addressing my adulthood. Whatever that means.
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