When I was very much younger than I am now I used to think that at some point in your life you “mature”. I understood “maturity” to mean that you had a pretty good grip on things, and that nothing short of a major catastrophe could impact the trajectory of your life. When you became mature, I thought, you knew what you wanted, and even if you hadn’t achieved it, you knew how to go about it and that’s what you did. A mature person didn’t question their life’s purpose. A mature person knew who they were and proceeded confidently into the future.
I don’t know where I got that crazy idea. I suppose it was from watching the adults in my life, who seemed to be so wise, and so stable. I kept this notion of what maturity was until my parents split up during my senior year in college. For the first time in my life I began to see them not as my parents, but as individuals, with a whole life experience that had nothing to do with me. For the first time I saw them as fallible, and vulnerable. It freaked me out initially, but eventually it allowed my relationships with my parents to morph into the friendships I have with them now, which has been a great blessing.
I have started over many times already in my life. I graduated college believing that I would make my career in the theatre, only to change my mind after one season of working professionally. I thought I would go to law school, only to decide against it after a couple of years as a litigation paralegal. I thought I would make my living in commercial real estate, only to walk away a year after finishing graduate school. I thought I had finally found my life’s calling working for a membership association, only to have it snatched away in the blink of an eye.
So here I am, starting over again, and again, and again. Until three years ago I was my own agent of change, and I’m still working to find the way forward. I’ve tried a number of avenues; some I’ve abandoned, some I’m still traveling, wondering where they will take me. I am not, according to my own definition, mature. I am still beginning. Every day I get up is a chance to be someone new, to get one day closer to finding my voice. I keep catching glimpses of a bright, beautiful life that I know could be mine, but I’m not the person I thought I should be at this age. I don’t see the way ahead clearly. All I know is that I must keep trying. And for now, that has to be enough.
Every Day is Saturday 
Leave a Reply