Are you there God? It’s me, Molly.
Thank you for blessing me with the greatest internship ever that made it possible for my wildest dreams to come true: hanging out with the Tampa Bay Lightning. Thank you for preventing me from tripping or throwing up or fainting during this process.
Being in the presence of my favorite team in professional sports made me feel as giddy as a school girl. In preparation for their arrival I found myself dancing around, chugging cans of coke and giggling endlessly. I also found myself wanting to slap myself in the face and say “Sheesh, woman! Snap out of it! You’re an adult!” Thankfully, I kind of pulled it together and didn’t do anything too embarrassing. But this still led me to ponder my current quarter-life crisis.
It all started about 30 seconds into my 20th birthday when I found myself wide-eyed and repeating “Oh good God, I’m in my 20s.” No longer a teenager. Sure, technically you’re an adult when you turn 18. Whatever. I think you only really become an adult when “teen” is hacked off the end of your age and you’re thrust into the life of a “20-something.”
20 is still so young, so why do I feel so much pressure to be grown up?
Maybe it’s because I have already sprouted over 12 gray hairs (but who’s counting?). Maybe it’s because almost every time I log onto Facebook another friend is either getting engaged, married, pregnant or giving birth. Maybe it’s because of the constant pestering of “what career are you going for?” or “what are you doing after graduation?” Well hi, reality check. I don’t even know what I’m eating for lunch…How am I supposed to know what I’m doing with my life?!
It feels like everyone else just has it all figured out. Majors, graduate schools, career paths, locations, relationships, hair colors. I don’t have any assurance on any of these. Me? I’m currently an Ad/PR (pending) major with a film minor, but if that doesn’t work out then I’ll just do communications with a mass media minor or something with writing or maybe even non-profit management. Um. What? I should probably have that figured out by now, right?
I just don’t really know how to be an adult. I’ve always been more interested in staying young. My practicality level can be measured in the fact that I always have two tubes of red lipstick with me, but never any writing utensils. Last time I tried to walk in heels, I tumbled down a flight of stairs. I don’t have a credit card. I have all my kids names picked out but the thought of long-term committing to someone gives me the heebie jeebies. (Also, see: the fact that I still say phrases like ‘heebie jeebies.’)
In the fifth grade, I was in the school-wide speech contest for my musings about not wanting to grow up in my speech entitled “Peter Pan was right.” Yes. As a 10-year-old. I wrote a speech. About not wanting to grow up. Prophetic and slightly depressing. Years later, I single-handedly persuaded my graduating class to vote “Forever Young” by Rod Stewart as our song but the whole “telephone game” of me having people pass it along the bleachers during the voting process eventually made the winning song be “Young Forever” by Jay-Z. Which, I mean, I didn’t hate.
To this day, I have the eating preferences of a six year old. Chicken fingers and Spongebob Mac and Cheese is my favorite meal. The appeal of various dietary restrictions, paleo, vegan, vegetarian, etc. are all greek to me. I don’t eat salads because I think lettuce tastes like leaves. I don’t drink milk because it freaks me out. Vegetables are gross. I actually ordered apple juice at a restaurant the other day. The only reason I (rarely) go to the gym is because I like being in shape enough to run around and keep up with my little cousins.
At one point, Netflix’s “recommended for Molly” section looked like that of a kindergartener. Guilty, as I had recently watched ‘Cheetah Girls,’ ‘Hey Arnold’ and ‘Alice in Wonderland.’ I think board games are a highly overlooked form of entertainment. I still feel this yearning to color my friends’ names with Crayola markers on a clean white sheet of printer paper. I get the biggest kick out of seeing someone slip and fall. I sprint across the room and leap into bed after turning my light off because it’s freakin’ scary. I’m a Belieber, One Directioner and when I don’t think boys have cooties, I’m still convinced I’m gonna marry a Jonas Brother. I sleep with a stuffed animal.
I AM an adult, right?
Do adults have to regularly remind themselves “Don’t be weird. Act normal.”? Cause I have do that on the daily. Generally, I don’t really know how to be serious.
I’m currently in that limbo between childhood and the real world known as “college.” I’m just awaiting the impending doom of not being able to just lay in bed all day watching Disney movies and eating fruit roll-ups. I dread the day when I have to figure out what a 401K is and actually have to start brushing my hair and ironing my clothes. Or when I start using social networking sites for actual social networking instead of just stalking my exes.
In the meantime, thank you for giving me a roommate and best friend who still can’t paint her nails without getting the polish all over and will drop what she’s doing to sing and dance along to “A Whole New World” with me. While it may seem like everyone is getting their crap together, I know I’m not in this quarter-life crisis alone.
I may technically be an adult, but I’m not supposed to have it all figured out just yet, right?
I know you’ll eventually help rid me of my commitment issues and childish tendencies in due time, wontcha? Or at least please continue to surround me with fellow young-at-hearts to help me through this quarter-life crisis.