Do I Have to Grow Up?

Over the Christmas break, my hometown had a glorious snowfall. The whole town was thickly blanketed in fine, perfect snow. It wasn’t very good quality for packing, but there was a huge amount of it, so I bided my time. By the third day, it had very slightly melted and settled, so that the entire yard was my toolbox. I arrived home earlier than everyone else from work, and slipped out to make my mark on the neighbourhood. The results were great:

SNOW GOON!

By the time my parents rolled into the driveway and my brother sauntered down the path, the yard held a few surprised for them in the dimming light.

GOOD GRAVY, THERE’S ANOTHER!

My brother was reasonably impressed with my homage to Calvin and Hobbes, and my dad was apathetic. My mom smiled a little, and then told me that at one point, I would have to grow up.

My first inclination was to stamp my foot and declare that I certainly didn’t need that, which perhaps proves her point. There’s a precedent to my outrage, though!

I criticize myself most of the time with admonishments to stop being so quiet, and prim, and sensible, and boring. I’m naturally pretty introverted, and very comfortable being alone. I enjoy the company of my friends and can be goofy and sociable with them, and I assuredly miss them when they’re not around, but I never feel lonely. I don’t need much to entertain me, and I can be amused and diverted by the simplest things. This is all to say that hanging with me doesn’t usually entail a totally wild time; one of my friends described it as “adorable homebodiness” and is continually trying to get me to break out of my comfort zone. I’m continually grateful for her efforts, because I always enjoy myself immensely when I do; I’m just not great at thinking of and initiating other social activities besides coffee dates. I will have you know, I am great at coffee dates. If anyone ever needs someone to chat with over coffee, I am your woman.

So when I do get an idea to do something even slightly wild and interesting, I’m quite pleased with myself. Making stupid snowmen doesn’t seem like much, but it’s out of character for me. Even that idea is ludicrous, but that’s how I feel.

This summer, I’m planning to run wild in the neighbourhood; I’m going to to the beach (it’s 15 minutes away from my house that I’ve lived in since I was 9, and I’ve been only twice; this is unconscionable), I’m going to frequent the local movie theatre to see the cool foreign films they show every week, I’m going to play badminton on the front lawn with my brother for hours, and I’m going to hang out with my friends outside of a coffee shop whenever I can. I’ll be working full-time as well, but on my hours off I am going to ignore the fact that I’m otherwise a cool, confident adult. I’m going to have fun! Good gravy, last summer I worked two jobs and didn’t even have time to read a book; I’m never going to willingly repeat that experience. I really don’t have to sacrifice my maturity and regress to childhood in order to justify having a little leisure time to goof off in.

My adulthood is my second childhood, only in this one I’m conscious of what a great opportunity I’ve been given. Let’s live it up!