Adulthoodwinked

Recently, I have come to terms with a fact that has made me very bitter. Since I returned from my freshman year of college this May and began my internship at the Telegraph, I have been thinking a lot about adulthood, particularly in response to a terrible secret I learned while I was away.

Let me begin at the beginning.

On the night before I started first grade, my parents came into my bedroom to say goodnight and found me at the foot of my awesome canopy bed, crying in front of a row of stuffed animals. They were lined up in order of favoritism, beginning with my least favorite and ending with Sparkle the lion (who was a bikini-wearing boy, by the way; 6-year-old me really demolished gender stereotypes).

Before the rude interruption, I was giving a tearful goodbye to each toy before placing them in a cardboard box. Don’t worry, I poked holes in the sides ... I’m not a monster. I was under the impression that because I wasn’t in kindergarten anymore, I had to throw away all my toys. Luckily, my parents explained just in time that there was no such rule.

I should have garnered a hint about adulthood from this experience, but I was probably too busy learning to read. I went through life still believing that I would be a different person once I turned 8, once I graduated middle school, once I became a senior. I thought the changes would be quick and immediate, like running through an invisible finish line.

Time and time again, though, I was the same, slowly evolving human. And time and time again, I still expected swift transformations.

Thirteen years later, I lay in a different bedroom. This time I had no stuffed animals, but their absence was less about personal development and more about my little sister losing Sparkle in a Barnes & Noble.

Regardless, in the early hours of the morning, I had finally finished packing to leave for college in Walla Walla, Wash. (yes, the worst and most ridiculous name). As I taped up the last of my boxes, I thought about a decade of memories I had built in Durango: midnight runs to Denny’s; crashing into a tree while learning to drive stick shift; skiing down my driveway; jumping in the Animas; failing tests and passing tests; going on my first date; and ripping the crotch of my pants ice skating. Ten Halloweens and 10 Fourth-of-Julys and 10 New Years.

I packed away my walking route to elementary school, folded together the mountains, stacked the buildings of my town, neatly placed my friends and family and teachers and pets inside one at a time – and poked holes in the sides of the box.

It was a goodbye to my former life, the life of a child and teen-ager. And although I was terrified and a bit numb, I looked toward my future with excitement. College was a definite, concrete transition into adulthood. And I had made it.

For all my life I had been living under the impression that once I suffered through the painful, angst-ridden, acne-filled teen-age years, I would be rewarded with the confidence, wisdom and love for Jimmy Buffett that I have observed in the majority of adults I know.

I walked out of my college’s convocation, for the first time in my life feeling like a grown-up human. I strode past the library to my dorm, passing a pair of fellow cool collegiate adults thinking that I was now one of them. But a few moments later, I heard a strange squeal followed by maniacal laughter.

I turned, expecting an evil clown or Jafar from Aladdin to be cackling behind me. Instead, one of the upperclassmen I’d passed had somehow grabbed a duck. The poor animal’s tiny feet desperately bicycled in the air as the frat boy grasped the duck’s fat body. I stopped in my tracks in horror as the guy holding it gleefully offered it to his friend. His friend leaped back with a high-pitched scream and yelled something about biting. After a moment of mildly awkward “what-now” silence, frat boy decides to set the duck on his own head.

“Duck hat,” he explained loudly, grinning.

It’s safe to say that as a bystander, my perception of adulthood was shattered in those short moments. It was then I realized that becoming a grown-up, like first grade, is not a barrier that changed you as a person. It’s just more life: complicated and full of mistakes, hard decisions, and a duck hat.

I couldn’t believe the unfairness of it all. I was saddened, disappointed and frankly enraged when I discovered the terrible secret that my hope of a real adulthood had been nothing but a sham. I was left with no other choice than to believe my optimistic illusions were the result of a sick joke perpetrated collectively by all adults.

However, a year of college has enlightened me enough to see a silver lining in the exhausting, soul-crushing truth, which is that I don’t have to let go of being a child. By this I mean embracing the wildly ridiculous in life and being spontaneous, and also crying until I am brought food and not wearing a bra. I get to keep my metaphorical stuffed animals. Not having all the answers is way harder, yes, but it leaves room for figuring it out on my own. And is that not the point of life – to make it your own?

In college I was taught about Nietzsche and outer space and psychology, but the majority of what I learned came from what my mom calls the “college experience.”

I’ve learned that it is sometimes worth it to skip studying, and sometimes not. I’ve learned that signing up for a 2-3 a.m. radio show slot is both an abysmal idea and will carry the most joyful moments of your life. I’ve learned to never eat dining hall sushi and that if you surround yourself with good people, you’ll be OK.

Lastly, I’ve learned that we can live out all our years and never become adults.

(Unless one of you is hiding the secret, in which case, forget everything I just said and please email me as soon as possible.)

– Martina Pansze