Twenty-Three

I am twenty-three years old

And I am very, very confused

Am I an adult?  Am I a child?

Should I be happy with where I am?

And where is that?

I’m married, I have bills and a schedule and responsibilities

I hear girls my age say they don’t know what they want out of life yet

I do.  Does that mean I’m ahead?

Or am I behind?

Two hundred years ago I would have several children by now

Traveled the world, even had two degrees

Children don’t grow up quickly today

And nobody tells them when they should start, or when they’ve finished

I feel like my life is on hold

Waiting for a starting gun, a flag, someone to yell “Go!”

Someone tells me I decide when it’s time to begin

But I’ve tried, and I’ve stalled

Is stalling part of being a child, or an adult?

Or somewhere in between?

Or all three, or does it even matter?

I want to be a student again, soon

Does that mean I’m still a child?

Or an adult hanging onto childhood?

Graduate school is difficult to define

On the one hand, it seems almost indulgent

Thought for thought’s sake

“What if?” rules the day

More loans for more classes for more papers

That nobody will ever read

A placeholder, because you can’t find a job

Yet—sometimes—it becomes the path to a job

MBA, MD, LPC, JD

A Master’s Degree becomes on-the-job training

Networking, mentorship, a two-year-long interview

But what if the placeholder is really a pathway?

A home for dreamers, a place to quantify those dreams

Is adulthood devoid of such beauty and fancy and the artistry of thought

That it only exists from 9am to 5?

You’re an adult when you pay bills, get groceries, raise kids, pay taxes

But what about when you journal, and post your poetry online?

When you build Christmas decorations in your garage

Or write a book for someone else to read?

Are these childish daydreams, unworthy of mature homo sapiens?

I still don’t know what I am

Adult or child, or something in between

But I think I can live with that

If I knew who I was, I wouldn’t ask so many questions

I wouldn’t read so many books

If I knew the answer, I might find that there’s only one answer

My life would be so short, and I might find I’d already missed it

More than one answer means more than one journey

A lifetime to find them all

Like the endless miles of trail in Yosemite

And around every corner a waterfall

And even though I know it isn’t true, for a little while I’m the first one who’s ever found it

Perhaps adulthood and childhood are merely biological constructs

Stages of psycho-social development, different prices at restaurants and theme parks

Nothing less, but certainly nothing more

Where I am right now—what I am

I am living

I am learning, and growing, and trying, and falling, and trying again

I’m trying to see what’s ahead, and not trip on what I left behind

And I’m not waiting any longer to ‘arrive’ at some arbitrary endpoint

Some finish line that marks the end of life’s enjoyment

I am confident, and clear-headed, and certain that where I am right now is the next step

To whatever joy my good choices bring

Or consequences of unwise ones

This certainty cleanses my confusion

And it’s about time

I’m almost twenty-four