The Switch

So I have figured it out. I am living in a state of permanent limbo. Mentally and emotionally, I am still a child. Indecisive, poor, non-committal, and easily bored. These are not the main characteristics of a 25 year old--at least I did not attribute these characteristics to someone in their mid-twenties. But of course, that was when I was not in my mid-twenties.

My boyfriend and I had a big fight about a month ago. During our reconciliatory talk in which he begged for my forgiveness he said he realized he didn't make the "switch" he needed to be a gold star boyfriend (the gold star is, of course, my addition and I have since made a gold star system to monitor his behavior). I was too angry to sympathize with him at the time, but I can divulge here that I am having trouble making a switch of my own. Not in the girlfriend department of course, but in the grown-up department.

Only seven years ago, 25 year-olds were adults. In my mind, there was a great divide between myself and the 25 year-olds I knew. They had jobs instead of mid-terms, steady boyfriends instead of random hook-ups, framed paintings instead of recycled drinking posters, and furniture that their colleges didn't provide for them. They were grown ups.

Well, I am 25 now and I can say that it is all one big farce. All of you who are seven years older than me are liars! Yes, when I was 18 your framed Monet prints implicitly whispered I am what you are working towards and I'm worth it. Now those wall hangings are saying: I am the ugly print your mother bought eight years ago at a garage sale and I feel sorry for you that you couldn't afford anything better.

So, I have learned that 25 years of living does not a grown up make. I still buy lunch specials and try to make them last for two meals (eat your heart out you stupid New York Times article about "poor" 20 somethings in New York). I still have no clue what I want to do with my life. And I still don't own more than $1,500 worth of personal property, Monet print not included.

I can’t help but feel inadequate because of my inability to make “the switch.” This inadequacy is exacerbated by visits home. The last time I went home and told my extended family about my graduate school success, my Auntie Popol frowned at me and said, "This is not where I thought you would be at this age. You should own something, like a house." I figured I wouldn’t tell her that the commitment to buying a mattress gave me acid reflux for a week. But really, a house? And what the hell does “this age” mean anyway?

The problem is that everyone else seems to know what being 25 means but me.