When I was a child, I couldn’t wait to grow up and do all the stuff I didn’t quite understand at that time. I always wanted to drive an Audi 80 (but my brother quite insensitively destroyed my dreams by telling me that this car would no longer be produced when I would reach the age of 18…unfortunately, he was right), but now I don’t even have a driving license. I dreamed of becoming a writer, cop, then a doctor or maybe a lawyer, but I ended up holding one and a half (i.e. I don’t know yet whether I’ll pass) degrees in languages. I was desperately in love with Diagnosis: Murder actor Charlie Schlatter and pictured in my head what it would be like to marry him (I didn’t know then about paedophilia). Now I’m still single and not even in love. By the age of 25, I imagined I would have a proper job (writer, cop, doctor or lawyer) and a family, with which I’d live in a little house surrounded by the cliché white picket fence. In fact, I just happen to start out into my first real job and prefer living with a friend rather than with hubby and offspring.
Well, ok, at least regarding the last part of how I pictured my future is not yet entirely out of touch: I’m not yet 25. In fact, I got almost 11 months left to get married, pregnant with twins and a mortgage on a house. Thinking about all of this, I find it strange to see that my childhood dreams didn’t work out so far. Of course, I have to admit that my aims and ideals changed quite a bit throughout the last 19 years, but when I look at people my age who went to school with me and move in with their boyfriends, are getting married (or ARE even married for a couple of years already), have a decent job or even kids, I wonder whether I’m still lagging behind and missed to jump onto the grown-up train.
Physically, I’m perfectly grown up. In fact, I guess I’m close to reaching the age in which one starts shrinking again. Mentally, however, the issue is clearly debatable. I do live my life on my own, am finally going to earn my own money and do all the grown-up stuff that’s connected to it. At the same time, however, I’m wearing tiger-paw slippers and pyjama-pants while stuffing myself with ice-cream and watching a Disney movie on TV. I am grown-up, but at the same time I don’t feel like I am. Maybe I’m stuck in some kind of transition, some sort of second puberty (yet without pimples and greasy skin) kicking in late.
But then again I wonder whether we grow up entirely at all. Why is it that people fall victim to mid-life crises and try to regain their long gone youth? Why did my friend’s (mentally absolutely healthy) grandfather wish for a Lego toy for his 80th birthday? Truth is that people expect you to act and behave reasonable as soon as you reach a certain age, which is, after all, not much fun. Society sets the parameters for adulthood and maturity – some cling to it, some don’t. I just feel that one shouldn’t forget about their childhood dreams – however utopistic they have been. It’s good to have dreams because – and I’m sure most of you will agree with me on that matter – reality stinks occasionally.
Even though I will now pull my tiger-paw slippers off my feet to get down on daily business, I already look forward to wearing them again tonight. After all, the child inside needs to be fed.
