I Don't Wanna Grow Up...

Today, as I turn twenty four, like birthdays of yesterday's past, I sit and reflect. What I could have done more of and of that I did, what I could have done better. Specifically, this past year, there have been tremendous obstacles that I've faced and am yet to overcome. Yet, perhaps my biggest area of growth lies in the fact that for every mistake I've made and consequence I've encountered I've realized I have no one to blame but myself. That's a hard pill to swallow.

About a week ago, I sat and had a serious conversation with my dad. In the midst of talking about some of the life decisions I've made he stated that I would soon be twenty four. The way he said it made it seem like twenty four was some segue into adulthood that I had missed or even ignored. Perhaps he was right, because to me it meant nothing.

At twenty-four, I still don't want to work a 9-5. I don't want to have a serious relationship, because gawd forbid I have to get married and have kids. Or even worse that I lose my status as Daddy's Little Girl, a fate to me, almost worst than death. Ironically, my viewpoints differ GREATLY than those when I was a child and adolescent. I couldn't wait to grow up, but now the very thought scares me. Point blank, I'm regressing.

I'm pretty sure this comes from living in a society where thirty is heralded as the new twenty. Twenty year olds aren't that far removed from their adolescence and adolescents are still treated as children. Even more tragic is I live in a society where grown women happily revert to childhood and aspire to be barbies. Teenagers are constantly marketed within a subculture that segregates them from adulthood and perpetuates a culture of inadequateness. The flow of transition, that prepares us for the rest of our lives, has been largely interrupted.

Psychoanalyzing myself, as I often do, the only thing I could come up with was that: I'm experiencing the effects of a culture that is content in its infantilization. Just a generation ago at 21 and 24, my mom and dad, respectively, were married. Three years later they would have my sister who is three years my senior.

When I was younger, I remember thinking that the age gap between my parents and myself was so large. Now I couldn't get Father Time to slow down even if put a Rohypnol in his drink. MY problem is I'm not ready to grow up. Yet, my reality is that, until I meet the fate worst than no longer being Daddy's Little Girl, I have no choice. Happy Birthday to me!