Last week, I had a professor ask our class of mostly seniors, "how many of you here feel like imposters when people tell you that you're an adult?"
Every hand shot up without hesitation – including those of our thirty-year-old TAs.
If it hadn't been weird, I would've raised both hands, and probably both my feet too, that's how strongly I felt about it. You know, I definitely don't feel like a teenager anymore. In fact, several weeks ago, I overheard some tweens in a tour group observing our oh-so-fashionable yoga-pant-chic campus and whispering, "I'd never wear sweatpants in public."
Yeah well. Buddy, one day you'll learn.
This weekend, I caught myself somewhat surviving as a functioning member of society. I paid my credit card bill on time (although not without a good wince, and I definitely closed my eyes when pressing the 'pay' button so fingers crossed it even went through at all). Amazon / Ontrac screwed up an important delivery, and I found myself on the phone listening patiently to cheesy hold music and asking all the right questions. I was nibbling on waffle fries at food truck parks and sipping Irish Coffees and sangria and handing over my ID like nobody's business, so legally, that's gotta mean something. I've been having this really sucky sore throat, and I was mature about it – nursing green tea after green tea aaaaaaaaand
well, hold up. I also popped marshmallow after marshmallow because wikiHow told me it'd help. I ate honey straight from the honey packet. I self-medicated with ice cream, and called my mom whining about the pain. Not so adult, after all. Suddenly motivated to do a Tone It Up video, I realized with half dismay that hello, I don't have free weights because what are those, and so I ended up "training for bikini arms!!!!" by substituting weights with um... wine bottles. Whatever works, right? My dad picked me up to treat me to birthday noodles, and I handed him an emergency flashlight that we keep "in case there's an earthquake" and said, "LOOK AT MY THROAT PLS HELP ME DADDY I'M DYING." *Dramatic sob.*
Apparently there's this San Francisco Easter tradition – long story short, hammered folks tricycle down the windiest of steep streets, and hope not to break a bone. As I saw grown men and women dressed up as Star Wars characters and Elsa or something other than actual dignity, crashing into haystacks and stumbling over broken wheels and shouting "weeeeeeeeeeeeee!!" all the way down, I felt some kind of weird sense of connection, some form of - you know what? Maybe we aren't ever meant to be 100% adult. Perhaps we're meant to always retain a sense of "can't adult" in us so we aren't driven insane by this world we live in. Perhaps.
And then I went to microwave frozen taquitos for dinner. Adulting like a pro.