COLUMN: Wait! I’m not ready for adulthood
I don’t think I’ve achieved adulthood yet, which is sad considering I’m 25 years old. But I suppose it depends on your definition of an “adult.” Is it someone who can pay their bills on time without second and third notices? Is it someone who can make life changes without too much worry? Is it someone who doesn’t mind airing dirty laundry on the Jerry Springer show?
My definition of adulthood is sketchy at best. In some ways, it’s a combination of all the things above, except perhaps the “Jerry Springer” thing. And it’s so much more. Responsibility for yourself, your family, your finances, your job is on of the main components of being an adult.
I’m the least responsible person on the planet. Well, maybe I’m a close second or third, anyway. My bills come in, are promptly opened and sobbed over and generally placed gingerly on the top of the pile of papers beside my bed or in my backpack where I’m sure not to forget about them. More often than not, the bills reside there – while I continue to panic over them – until the day before they’re due.
Not responsible.
As I, and thousands of others on this campus and across the nation, prepare to graduate from university, I find myself scared to death. Not that I can’t do the job. I’m sure I can. Why else would they have hired me? And it’s not that I’m afraid to move to a new state. I’ve done it before and my brother lives in the same city as I will, so it’s not so much that. I think it’s leaving behind the routine I’ve grown accustomed to.
Not an adult attitude.
I thought that college would prepare me to accept these kinds of changes willingly and lovingly. Yes, every semester was different. I survived the switch from quarters to semesters and three changes of my major in a single year. My friends and I weathered Christmas, Spring Break and summer partings several times only to rejoice in our reconnection at the end. I’ve lived in seven different apartments in my five years here. All with some amount of anticipation and fun.
This change surpasses all of those.
But staring down the tunnel toward that bright light is getting awfully creepy. Do I want to do this? Am I ready? Can I do this? Am I adult enough to take this one on?
My Spring Break was spent searching for apartments in Austin, Texas, where I’m moving in May. It’s a beautiful place with plenty of green space, which is a tremendous relief after my time in brown, barren Utah. The apartments I have to choose from are incredible – nicer than the one I grew up in.
I looked at a few different ones and decided on one with a window over the kitchen sink. It was much like choosing which dorm we wanted a few years ago or which apartment in the building I wanted. The difference, of course – and one I hadn’t even considered – is that these places, these communities, already have people living there who don’t clear out every summer to let us new kids in. I have to wait to see what they have available.
Welcome to adult disappointment. Hmmmm. A 12-month lease? Oh goodness. I’ll be locked in. Pets? Oh man. Responsibility for something else. Oh geez. I don’t know if I can do this. My own washer and dryer? Sweet! But I have to pay more for that? Whew. It’s too much.
Wait. I need a new car? Well, I can afford it, but what will I get? How will I finance it? Is that a good interest rate or is that too high for what I want? Could I do better somewhere else? Warranty? For what? Depreciation rates, interest rates, fatality rates, accident rates, crime rates, burglary rates, insurance rates – for home and car, promotion rates …
Can I stay here a little longer? Please?
Heather Fredrickson is a senior majoring in journalism. E-mail comments to her at slr4h@cc.usu.edu.