The topic of adulthood has been on my mind a lot lately. It’s a cartoonish form of adulthood that doesn’t exist, though – one that paints an “adult” as someone with no hobbies or interests, a businesslike frame of mind around everything. I think a part of me feels a need to conform to this fake form of adulthood; so, as I sat on my floor at 4am waiting for a new song to release on Spotify, I felt a dissonance. Is it foolish of me to care so much about the music I like that I’m staying up late? Is this childish? Am I too old for this?
One of my communication courses wrapped up yesterday, and during our final lecture, my professor said to us, “It’s amazing that you guys are so thoughtful and mature, I was never like this at your age.” I was shocked; I don’t think it has crossed my mind recently that I am still allowed to be a dumb kid. I’m so worried about the way I express interest in things or being seen as “childish” that I’m failing to recognize the important ways I’m maturing. This time is precious, and it’s okay to be a bit silly or make mistakes. So what I’m excited for music with the fervor of a thirteen year old girl? I’m gonna dance about it.