2104: Adult Content

From a Plinky prompt:

“When did you realise you were an adult?”

I’ll be frank with you, dear reader; despite being 34 years of age, despite being married, despite being a homeowner, despite having a new(ish) car… I don’t feel like I’m an adult.

I mean, obviously I know I am an adult, because I have to worry about things like council tax, credit cards and putting the rubbish out. But I don’t feel like an adult. I’m not particularly houseproud (except when I know people are coming to visit), I’m not the sort of person who enjoys DIY “projects” — I doubt the day when I really want to “do the bathroom” or similar will ever come, whereas for some friends of mine it came practically the moment they left university — and I don’t really know how insurance works.

These are things that people never teach you, you see — or at least, they didn’t when I was in education. During my few years as a teacher, I did deliver a few “Key Skills” classes that, among other things, involved a whole lesson on how to work a washing machine — yes, really — but I must confess to feeling a little hypocritical educating the youths of the day on things that, in some cases, I wasn’t hugely familiar with myself.

Regular readers will, of course, know that my brain is riddled with hangups and anxieties over all sorts of things, ranging from simple communication with other people to how, exactly, you go about calculating your tax code. These anxieties, at times, build into what feels like outright fear, and I find myself worrying that I’ll get everything “wrong” and mess it up; this feeling, when it grows big enough, is enough to completely paralyse me from doing something I need to do, putting it off and putting it off until it becomes a considerably bigger problem than it would have been if I’d just done it when I first became aware of it.

I probably shouldn’t do that. One of these days I’ll end up putting off something really important and getting myself into a disastrous situation. Fortunately, I’m not alone; I have people who look out for me, and while I don’t want to become dependent on them or anything, knowing that sets me a little more at ease with my life than I would be if I was trying to struggle through all by myself.

So, in answer to the original question… when did I realise I was an adult? I don’t think I ever have realised that I was an adult; I don’t feel like I am an adult, I feel like I still have a hell of a lot to learn about the world, and I don’t have the first clue how to go about doing it. And, more to the point, I’m not sure I particularly want to.

That’s probably not a very grown-up attitude to take. But, well… you know.

1955: Always Out of Time

I’ve become somewhat convinced that I’m doomed to be forever “out of step” with where someone of my age — whatever it is at the time — is “supposed” to be.

I’ve been aware of this since I was a kid. While I had some friends in my peer group — many of whom are still friends today, and some of whom are even attending my wedding next month — when I was younger, I always found myself gravitating towards people who were older than me.

There were a few reasons for this, depending on who the person in question was, but mostly it was due to the fact that I never quite felt like I “fit in” with my peer group. I wasn’t into football, I didn’t know much about popular music — I was mercilessly mocked for my first ever album purchase being Oasis’ Definitely Maybe literally a day before (What’s the Story?) Morning Glory came out — and I was into things that were seen as a bit… I don’t know, specialist? Nerdy? Music (i.e. playing and composing, rather than popular) and computer games, mainly — and while I did have some friends who shared at least some of these interests, I always found myself wondering if I was a bit more into these things than they were.

And so it was I found myself being able to relate somewhat better to people who were a little older and less susceptible to that bugbear of adolescence, peer pressure. My brother’s girlfriend at the time — some ten years my senior — helped me discover a love for tabletop and role-playing games through Hero Quest and Space Crusade. Certain friends of my parents proved to be more appreciative of my musical skills than my peer group. And I always wanted to hang out with my brother and his friends whenever they were around — even though I was also aware that I was the annoying little brother.

I find myself comparing how I was then to how I am now, and realise that I am now in almost the inverse situation: just recently, I am finding myself relating to and getting along with people somewhat younger than myself rather than, again, my peer group.

At thirty-four years of age, there’s less in the way of “peer pressure” in the same way there was at school, but in a way it’s still there in a more insidious form. People I know are getting married, buying houses and even having kids — I’ve done two out of those three things, and don’t have any intention of doing the other in the immediate future — and there’s always this slight undercurrent feeling like I should be more “grown up” than I am.

Part of this anxiety comes from my woes in the job market over the years. Of my past employment, I was made redundant from one, signed off sick with stress from the next, bullied out of the one after, quit before I killed myself with the following one, made redundant again with the one after that, screwed over at short notice with the one after that and ultimately, again, bullied out of another job, partly as a result of my depression and anxiety issues. So it’s fair to say that all that has mounted up somewhat and made me feel more than a bit inadequate and “behind” where I “should” be at the age of thirty-four.

In a way, though, I also don’t want to “grow up”. I love the things I love, and I feel like the things I’ve discovered I love most recently are things that speak to me pretty much more than anything I’ve been into in the past. And exploring those things a step at a time has brought me into contact with a variety of new, exciting and interesting people whom I’m keen to get to know a bit better, as they seem to kind of “get” me. Or, at least, “get” the stuff I’m into.

Thing is — and I don’t know for certain, but have strong suspicions — these people are quite a bit younger than me. Oh, they’re not schoolkids or anything like that, I hasten to add — most are in their early to mid twenties, I believe — but I am conscious of it. And I’m grateful to them for — so far, at least — accepting me for who I am and not giving a shit about my age as much as I apparently do.

So is all this a problem? I couldn’t say. It’s just been on my mind a bit recently — I’ve been meaning to write this post for a while now. Ultimately I can’t help but feel that doing things that make you happy and sane are more important than the things society says you “should” be doing at any given age. And so, until I find myself in a situation where it’s simply impossible to — and I hope that day never comes — I plan on staying just the way I am for now, and see where life takes me from here.

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.