Recently, I celebrated my 27th birthday. I wrote about how 27 was the age that marked me as comfortably in my late 20s, and how I was okay with that because it meant that it was an age where it was okay for me to be a grown-up.
But it's funny, that whole being a grown-up thing. What does that actually mean? Because it still beats me. I logged onto Facebook recently and saw that one of my acquaintances had posted: "I just bought a house and was accepted into an MBA program. Does that make me a grown-up yet?" Below her post were supportive comments from others confirming that yes, both those things did and she was officially a grown-up.
That made me frown. I mean, I myself had bought a house recently. But within the past year, that house had literally kicked my butt. Sure, although it sounded like a very adult and grown-up thing to do, I'd found myself regressing to behaviors I'd had in high school and college, things like hiding in my room and crying when I had to deal with my ridiculous roommates. Not to mention the fact that the house is still filled with furniture I'd been using since I was a college freshman.