I won't grow-up

Of course, I never actually have to wear a tie. And as an ecologist, it probably wouldn't be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, if it were in service of collecting data.

(I haven't climbed a tree in years, but mainly out of fear that the small branches wouldn't hold my adult weight like they did when I was 10.)

Anyway. Sya, with some frustration, tweeted about an observation made in passing in this story (NYT, will require registration to view).

The story was nominally about "why won't 20-somethings grow up?"

One of the observations was that 20-somethings are, apparently, in record numbers, living with their parents.

(Funny. I lived with my parents for nearly ALL of my 20s, back in the 1990s, when I was in grad school. I did it because not having to pay rent saved me from having to take out student loans...which I would argue was an ironically mature decision).

But what irked her - and also irks me, as well, is this suggestion:

"Sociologists traditionally define the “transition to adulthood” as marked by five milestones: completing school, leaving home, becoming financially independent, marrying and having a child. "

Okay, one through three, I have completed. Four, while I'm not absolutely ruling it out EVER, seems perhaps equally likely with my observing a meteorite land on my neighbor's chihuahua on the same day that I win the lottery. And five - well, biologically speaking, that's not going to happen. I know women over 40 conceive and bear children, but I can tell you that for me, that's not going to happen.

(And beside the point: number four on that list? I'm not going to jump into it simply because the opportunity might present itself - I wouldn't go grabbing the first single male close to my age I can find - I would have to be fairly convinced that living with him would be better than continuing to live by myself. Which again, I think is a fairly mature decision: not wanting to get married just because "everyone else has done it" or because I feel like it will suddenly make me more socially acceptable (though sadly, in some circles, it probably WOULD))

So, by the "traditional" sociological metric, I will never be an adult.

(And how much more painful would hearing that litany of things be to a couple who desperately wanted a child, but for whatever reason, could not have one? And for that matter, there's a certain percentage of the population that, as much as they would LIKE to marry their beloved, cannot legally do so, at least in many places)

And this plays on the events of Monday, where I had a person in power talk to me in a way that made me feel like they were seeing me as a little girl in a pinafore dress with skinned knees and a bow in my hair, instead of a Ph.D. with ten years of a career under her belt.

(I really, honestly, do think there are still people who think if you have not married and/or had a child, you are not a "really real" grown-up)

And the whole "fake grownup" thing, as I've said before, is one of my "issues." I don't like having people come over to my house unless I've had time to do extensive cleaning right before they come - because I fear that people would see the couple of empty boxes from Amazondotcom sitting on the dining room floor (because I haven't had time to take them over to the recycling center yet), or they'd see the stack of half-finished knitting projects on the ottoman, or the books strewn about, and envision me not as an adult, but as that 16 year old with a moldy ham sandwich under the bed and dirty socks all over the floor. (N.B.: when I was 16, I never left ham sandwiches under the bed. And usually didn't leave dirty socks around.)

So being "told" (or perceiving that I'm being told) that I'm "not a grownup" upsets and angers me.

For one thing: If I'm not a grownup, why the hell am I carrying such a giant load of responsibility? Why am I not having more fun than I am? Why am I bothering to do stuff other people asked me to do before I do the stuff I enjoy?

I think that's part of my frustration. (Though part of it is that maybe I have kind of bought into the idea that I'm not a really-real grownup. I mean, being responsible for another human life, whether it's a spouse or a kid or some other kind of dependent, does kind of force a re-organizing of priorities that I have not had to do).

(I saw a couple little kids - probably kindergarten or first grade - waiting for the bus as I drove in today. Man, did they every look grouchy and dour. Now, granted, other things could be going on, but, I remember my kindergarten days. (Perhaps it was easier for me because I could already read, and anyway, those things didn't seem to be pushed as hard in the pre-NCLB 1970s). Part of the day was spent coloring with crayons. And part of the day was spent listening to stories. And learning some (very basic) math. And there was recess. And graham crackers and milk. And a short naptime. I can bet that once those kids hit adulthood and careers, kindergarten will not look so bad at all.)

I don't know. One reason I can see for 20 somethings not leaving the nest is the difficulty of getting jobs right now - especially getting a job that pays enough to live on in areas like the East Coast where it's expensive to get housing and such. (But I have to admit, I kind of, sort of, secretly agree a little with the commenters on the site who say something like "Adulthood stinks! Of course these kids don't want to grow up!" because there are a lot of things about adulthood that frankly, do stink: keeping all your records in order for filing taxes, making and then going to dental appointments, going grocery shopping after work when you're tired, eating the "necessary" servings of vegetables in a day when you'd really rather eat pancakes, not yelling at people who probably deserve it...)

So I don't know. I'm forcing myself not to read anything into being "told" on Monday by someone that "I don't see you as an adult" and then reading a newspaper story on Wednesday that reminds me that "traditional sociologists" would assume I wasn't fully grown up because of my failure to marry and raise children.

And I suppose that may actually partly be the impetus for my high level of responsibility ("Erica would crawl 20 feet into Hell to do something she said she would do"), and partly my slight lingering guilt about preferring cartoons to "serious" programming on television...I guess part of it is that I long to be seen as "normal," whatever that may be, but I have the sinking suspicion that I'm NOT "normal," and that I can't quite keep the facade up perfectly, kind of like the space aliens who almost perfectly impersonate a human except their eyes blink out of synch or something. Or like the spy from another country who can speak the language perfectly and fit in almost perfectly, but mispronounces one word, or isn't aware of some certain custom, and that dooms them to being found out.