"You are not responsible for the programming you picked up in childhood. However, as an adult, you are one hundred percent responsible for fixing it."

--Ken Keyes, Jr.

(via Tudo Bom(b))

A girl I went to high school with is getting married the day after tomorrow.

Okay, okay, so I know some people who got pregnant and/or married right out of high school. But with very few exceptions, these were people who hadn't done well in high school, weren't going to college...there was no real reason for them to delay starting their families. This girl is different. I knew this girl fairly well, meaning she did at least some Honors and AP courses. She played sports. She graduated in the top 20% of our class, thus qualifying for the NJ Stars program. And thus, when it appeared on my News Feed some time ago that she was engaged, I had the curious sensation that this was a real engagement, not a "my-love-life-is-sad-so-let-me-be-engaged-to-my-BFF" engagement, or something otherwise constructed but not real. If I needed further proof, she started talking about wedding rings. And then today I saw a few of our mutual friends had written encouraging things on her wall and talked about pictures and the soon-to-be hubby, and with a little digging I learned their wedding is this Saturday and I was just like...

...

...

WE. ARE. CHILDREN. What is happening?!? I'M TOO YOUNG FOR PEOPLE I KNOW TO BE GETTING MARRIED. SHE'S NOT EVEN PREGNANT. THEY'RE JUST DOING THIS BECAUSE THEY WANT TO. WE'RE TWENTY ONE YEARS OLD. I DON'T UNDERSTAND. 

Don't we not live in that world where you go to college to find a man anymore? Okay, that was rude. I just wasn't expecting this to start happening to like, people that seemed destined to have at least fairly successful futures yet. I thought we as a generation were pushing back the marriage age to the late twenties and generally being fearful of growing up. 

My longest relationship lasted for four months. How do I know people that are getting married?!

"The jig is up," my mother said.

"This time next year you'll be off starting your own life hopefully somewhere far away, and that means that it's time for you to start getting rid of your junk. All the stuff in you and your sister's room, in the basement--go through it, figure out what you want to keep, what's trash, what can go to Goodwill." 

Translation: you don't live here anymore. 

I've been saying that to myself for a while now, jokingly calling myself a houseguest when I go home, but evidently the time to make that a legitimate reality is fast approaching. My mother wants me to move out of her house. 

I think this is the single most intimidating thing anyone has ever said to me. Nothing really says you're not a kid anymore like your mom wants her closet space back.

I'm claiming the GRE as an excuse to not start this project until the next time I'm home on break, but I'm already freaking out a little. I'm sure this is going to be a huge emotional rollercoaster, as I will literally be digging through the remains of my childhood and seeing most of it go out the door. 

The clothes I don't wear anymore: First, I will let my sister rifle through them. We're basically the same size and she kind of considers anything I leave in the room while I'm at school to be her property anyway. My less over-the-top semi-formal/formal dresses that still fit, I will probably keep in hopes that owning such dresses will inspire me to have a life that involves cocktail parties, fancy dates, and ridiculous birthday outings. I've been meaning to sell the others on ebay for a while now. I have a very large collection of heels, most of which still fit, but are in varying degrees of wear. I will see which of these seem most like they need to be part of my adult life, and the rest will go in the Goodwill bags.

That may be the only clearly definable category. Other random stuff I'm expecting to find: old CDs that I might try to sell at the Princeton Record Exchange for a few bucks, a ridiculous number of books that I should mail in small amounts to my friend Krystal who is teaching English in Alabama somewhere and has an absolute dearth of material for her 7th graders, nick-knacks and souvenirs from places I went on school trips in elementary school, remnants from my Magick phase, old photographs, gifts given to me by friends I barely speak to anymore. A memory box to which I've lost the key. Broken jewelry and earrings that are missing their other halves. 

What from that cornucopia of miscellany deserves salvaging? Is any of it worth bringing with me as I move forward into the rest of my life? If the remnants of the first 18 years of my life can be divided into trash bags and trash-bags-that-are-going-to-Goodwill, with the exception of two teddy bears, a couple of decorative pillows, and maybe a few pairs of shoes...where has the important stuff from my life gone? I know my mom isn't wrong when she calls it all "junk," but...it's the junk that made me. But when the junk that made you no longer defines you, you have to let it go, right?

The stuff that's in my dorm (okay, well right now is in various closets in my house waiting to go back to my dorm) is way more relevant to my last-year-of-undergrad self than anything in my bedroom is. That's scary, but it's the truth. I've grown up. It's time for that which I lay claim to to grow up too.

Things that make me feel grown as hell

When my dad asks me to borrow $450 til Friday so he doesn't bounce a check and I transfer it via Paypal no problem because I have that and more to spare right now and get paid on Wednesday. What is my life?

Grown-Folks' Business

A lot of my Atlantic City adventure yesterday with K, A, and I revolved around grown-folks and the concept of being/becoming one. 

Like all trips to AC should, ours started with blowing lots of money hitting up sales at the Outlets. We went to H&M and G by Guess, then K wanted to check out the Gap, Ralph Lauren, [side note, I'm lolling at Oxford's attempts to get rid of the Oxford comma and WILL NEVER LET IT GO. NEVER.] and Nautica, then my aunt hooked us up at Banana Republic (the whole store was 50% off and we got 30% off on top of that!), and I am not embarrassed to admit that I went to Old Navy on the way back and got some good deals there too. But K had never been to the outlets before, so while we were walking around he kept asking me what kind of good stores they had. I told him to tell me where he usually shops and I can tell him if it was there or not, but he said he doesn't even know where he usually shops anymore. This led to a conversation about fashion styles growing, changing, and maturing as we get older. We are 21-year-old about-to-be-seniors at Princeton who are destined for big wonderful things in the very near future...is it time we started dressing towards that future? Is the era of the graphic tee coming to an end in our lives? Does it have to? This conversation reminded me of a post on one of my favorite blogs, Black Girl With Long Hair a couple weeks ago about "Buying Grown Woman Clothes". And I just don't know how I feel about this whole change I'm evidently supposed to be ready for. Clothes from the stores that K wanted to browse felt either unnatural to me or like they belonged to 10-years-from-now-Professor-Maya, not 21-year-old-student-Maya. One day when I have a real job in the real world (let's pretend academia is the real world for a second), I can buy a $40 shirt and a $52 skirt and not feel as though I've committed a crime against my wallet. Until then, however, I will do my best to stay under $20/article of clothing even if it means I replace things a lot. I'm not ready for a wardrobe that'll stay with me forever. But the question, I guess, is should I be? And if the answer is yes...do I care? 

Then fast-forward to the show itself [which was phenomenal, see the previous post]. The first words out of K's mouth when we walked into the House of Blues were shock at how adult an environment the venue is. It's a standing room only, dark, interesting blend of Harlem-Renaissance-era and crazy-shit-from-the-70s black art on the walls, painted ceilings, three bars. It's the kind of place you dance during the show. This was a grown-folks' music hall, and he didn't feel old enough to be there. I said K, we are grown folks, and he said he felt like he was skipping school. The four of us were definitely some of the youngest people in the crowd. This was the kind of show people got dressed up for--onlyforthegrownandsexy dressed up, not slutted up--and I felt a little like I should have brought a dress to change into like originally planned. The DJ called out: "If you 25 plus make some noi-ise" and I swear we were the only people who didn't. [Side note: it was weird making noi-ise when the DJ called for single ladies too. K shot me a look like damn. What can I say? Fact: I'm not in any way happy about the reapplicability of this status to my life, but #Iwasjusttrynahaveagoodtime? I know what he meant though...it didn't feel right. Maybe I'll think twice next time.] What really made me feel young was the fact that drinks at the bar were RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE ($13 for a Long Island. $14 for a rum and coke. BITCH PUH-LEASE.) but people were getting them like they were free! A noted that the guys standing in front of us bought so many drinks that they spent more on alcohol than on tickets to the show, and evidently someday that will not be ridiculous to us. It was weird being surrounded by people in their 20s/30s/oldheads and realizing that a) you are actually a part of that first group of people, even if you don't feel like it, and what really struck me was b) we'll be doing things like this for the rest of our lives. Someday some other youngins will come in and see us and wonder if they're old enough to be here. I guess most of the people in our range of this generation were at the Rick Ross concert...we have a grownandsexy musical taste. Going back to the day's earlier thoughts, I loved looking at the range of styles sported by the women around me and wondering who I'll grow up to be. In semi-related news, never in Jersey have I been surround by so many naturalistas! I guess it takes some grownandsexy funky eclecticism along the lines of Erykah Badu's amazing voice to bring us out of the woodwork. 

Anyway, I'm pondering this: I can accurately say that I feel like an adult most of the time, especially more recently as I've done all sorts of adult things for the first time (note to self: I have a utilities bill to pay), and I can say I'm a grown-ass woman, but last night I felt like I was around ACTUAL grown-ass women and thus wondered if I'm really there. I wonder if that wondering ever goes away. My mom says even she doesn't feel like a grown-up sometimes...

Look Out, World!

So I had a random idea when Skyping with KO last week, and then I mentioned said random idea when on the phone with my mom the other day, who seemed generally supportive. Then last night while I was "work"ing I found myself perusing the interwebs in search of the closest DMV (which is evidently called the Motor Vehicle Commission now) location to my house in NB and/or to campus, and evidently it's not bus-able [which is ironic, imo], but nonetheless I will find a way to get there, because (drumroll please):

I'm gonna get my learner's examination permit!!! (That's evidently what it's called when you're a first-time driver aged 21+.)

Fuckyeah stayin on that grown-ass woman game. If I can live by myself in a house, pay rent, pay bills, commute to work, be getting ready to graduate, and try my hand at grown woman things like falling in love, I should be able to drive myself places. My little sister is learning to drive before I am, and that's just not cute. So I'ma get on that. I have to retake my written test because my passing score expired a little over three years ago...[and I just don't remember any of that shit anyway]. So let's add that to the list of things I'm studying for this summer, in addition to thesis and perhaps the GRE. Furthering the modes of independence=I'm excited!   

I'm beginning to realize that "independence" is a myth.

One of the things I pride myself on is being independent, most particularly in the form of being financially independent of my parents, and emotional independence in the idea that I am able to pick up the pieces and put my life back together by myself when it falls apart, even if I usually have awesome people to help me out. My biggest goal for this point in my life is to be, like, a self-sustaining individual, no matter what kind of partnership or arrangement I find myself in. On top of all that, I really really really don't like asking for help. It's a problem I'm actively working on, and I have gotten myself to the point where I realize that I can delegate things to other members of a group without compromising my self-respect, but not to the point where I am comfortable asking my parents for financial help again. It makes me feel like a failure. 

My parents disagree. My dad goes into his, "Maya, your whole life you've never asked me for anything. Finding out what you want for Christmas or your birthday is like pulling teeth. When I was a kid, I always had my hand out asking for this thing or the other thing [...] take this, and if you need more just ask." My mom says "I understand [your need to feel independent], but everyone needs help sometimes. I still have to ask for help sometimes. And this year I managed to put some money away for summer emergencies, so if you need help, just ask." It's strange how, as I get older and begin to start forging my way in the world, my parents somehow seem to be more there for me than ever before. Or maybe I've just begun to appreciate their efforts more.

But right now I'm struggling to figure out a way to even show my dad that I appreciate him this Father's Day, because I have $54.26 in the bank to last me until payday, which is not next Wednesday, as I was led to believe, but the Wednesday after. Which presents ALL SORTS of issues because it means I'll only get my paycheck for my first week of work before the end of the month, on on the first my rent is due and I need to buy my new train pass, and even if I could somehow not buy groceries for the rest of the month (false), my paycheck for one week of work only covers about half of those expenses. BUT my proposal for summer funding from my fellowship was approved on Monday, and should take approximately three weeks, which means $2732.69 will theoretically be direct-deposited into my bank account by the 27th and I'll be fine for the first/ever. 

Theoretically. Hopefully. But what if it's not? I recognize that I can go to my parents if I have to, and they are thankfully right now in a position where they can be of some assistance, but y'all know as well as I do that that's definitely the exception to the general rule. It's just dawning on me that like, independent individuals are still totally dependent on stupid pay schedules and slow offices to get us through life's daily trials and tribulations. Maybe independence isn't a goal I should be trying to meet, rather, I should just try to manage my interdependences in the best possible way.

My life is such a strange mixture of childhood and adulthood.

I suppose I should expect that, based on everything I learned doing my independent work this year, but the degree to which my lived experiences mirror/exceed what I found in my research still strikes me.
I guess part of this feeling stems from being back home for these past two weeks. It's so easy to feel like no time at all has passed as I slip back into familiar roles with my mom, my brother and sister, my friends from high school, my town as a concept. It's so easy to do all the familiar comfortable old things again: friends' houses that haven't changed in recent memory, the same old mall, the same old bowling alley, the same pink house we park next to when we go to the beach. Home is...comfortable, like a favorite sweatshirt, but also makes me feel as though I haven't aged. 
Except now I can drink...legally. Which means I get to see my hometown/the surrounding area in one new light: that of the local bar scene. I can find out today that I got an A on my JP (!!!) and then hit up happy hour at Applebee's with my bestie for drinks and not get carded and simply enjoy life. I can enjoy an amaretto sour from the bar at the bowling alley I've been going to since I was so little I had to squat and push the ball on the floor with both hands to get it down the lane. 
And that's not the only thing that reminds me I'm an adult. I sent my landlord (!) the check for my first month's rent (!) at the place in New Brunswick I'm subletting yesterday. I'm embarking on the process of buying a netbook to replace my computer that got stolen. I'm a real person, I promise. 
And yet I bought sidewalk chalk and a water gun from Five Below this week. When I went to fill out my I-9 because I have a job on campus this summer, the woman at the Financial Aid office didn't know how to fill out the form because I'd brought a non-driver ID instead of a license, because I don't have one. Sure I'm moving out to live in a house on my own for the first time (even temporarily), but my mom is still driving me and all my shit. 
I just feel so in-between in so many ways. But I've learned that that's how I'm SUPPOSED to feel right now, that that's what your twenties are for, so I guess I'm on the right track. This growing up thing is so hard.   

I always chuckle slightly to myself when I put a mug or a glass down after taking a sip of my drink, and see the perfect imprint of my lower lip marking the rim of the glass in some shade of red or brown lipstick. I like the way seeing that makes me feel. I can't really explain it, but it makes me feel...adult somehow. "Strange/ like I [am] a woman or sumthin". Kind of sexy, too, even though those fancy (read: expensive) lipsticks that don't rub off are supposed to be sexier now. I can understand that, but I like the idea of leaving a little piece of me behind on my mug, or on that spot where a guy's neck becomes his collarbone [my favorite spot to kiss]. A lip-print I might be identified by. A reminder that I am a woman who takes the time to look "put together", and I was here.

Fact: I really like my uncle's current girlfriend

because she makes an active effort to include me in post-amazing-meal-my-Nana-has-prepared discussion among the adults. As the only person in my local family who falls into my age category (ahhh, emerging adulthood constantly on the brain. Thanks, JP), I usually end up curled up on the couch in a corner reading and observing this conversation from afar. But now, she asks my opinion on things, or will direct something at me, and it is slowly having the effect of pulling me into the "adult" category of my family, as opposed to downstairs with the kids. But when I want to, I can still dip out of the conversation and return to my book and my couch. It's nice, I like no longer being isolated, but not having to be totally included either. Oh middle ground. :)