1226: Call Me ‘Pan’

I have been contemplating my own mortality lately.

Actually, that’s a total lie. I’ve simply been pondering what it means to be 32 years old, and whether society expects something different of me to what I am providing.

You see, in many ways I consider myself to be a “grown up” but in lots of others I feel very immature, and I’m actually quite pleased about the latter part. I still feel odd when I hear, say, a mother in a supermarket refer to me as “that man” rather than “that boy” when telling her child to get out of my way. Conversely, I don’t feel any shame in purchasing things that are for adults (get your mind out of the gutter) such as alcohol, 18-rated videos or mature-rated games or other media. I occupy a sort of weird middle ground where I’m aware I’m an adult, but I have no particular desire to start acting like one.

Why am I babbling on about this? Well, it stems from a conversation Andie and I just had where we both agreed that when I’m 60+ I will probably still be happy to sit around in my pants playing video games where girls’ clothes fall off to allow them to absorb more magic from the air, or to bust out the board games for a social occasion rather than doing something more dignified like a dinner party or whatever. I will also probably never stop finding burping, farting and the word “cock” funny.

I feel pretty confident that that is how my life is probably going to go. And I have absolutely no problem with that whatsoever. (Neither does Andie, I might add.)

Why? Because being a grown-up is boring. Being a grown-up means being interested in things like bank accounts and shares and insurance providers and all manner of other equally tedious things. I’m aware that many of these things are essential to survival, but I just don’t have the time, energy or inclination to waste on them any more than necessary. I keep my financial arrangements simple but effective, for example, and so long as service providers such as insurers and utilities aren’t actively robbing me, I’m happy to pay them their money just so I don’t have to think about complicated things. About the most “grown-up” thing I’m prepared to entertain the thought of is buying a house, and even then that’s largely because 1) I want a cat and 2) I want to be able to put up awesome pictures without having to worry about where I’m putting holes in the walls.

There are doubtless some people out there who would chide me for this arguably reckless attitude, but the fact is that — at present, anyway — I’m happy with the way my life is in terms of boring things like financial security and who supplies electricity to my flat. And, frankly, my own ultimate goal for existence isn’t particularly lofty or ambitious — I just want to be happy. As longtime readers of this blog will probably know, I have had more than a few lengthy periods of unhappiness over the years, so my current state of reasonable contentment is quite enjoyable, frankly. Long may it continue.

The only really frustrating thing about taking this approach to life is, of course, the fact that not everyone around shares the same desire to remain “young at heart”. Some people I know actively want to be grown-ups, and to have grown-up responsibilities and whatnot. Some people I know get excited about things like extensions and gardening and their new investments and all manner of other things. And fair play to them, if that’s what makes them happy. I just don’t find anything either interesting or desirable in behaving in that manner, and that’s why I intend to stay the way I am for as long as I possibly can.

And if you don’t like it, you can &c. &c.