Riff

We’re attempting to meet for dinner, my sons and I.  We’ve tried two dates now, only to end up aborting both at the last minute because he is hung up unexpectedly at work. The text messages flying back and forth culminate in frustration:  “I hate this adulting thing, planning stuff is so hard now.” 

The Urban Dictionary defines adulting as follows:  “to do grown up things and hold responsibilities such as, a 9-5 job, a mortgage/rent, a car payment, or anything else that makes one think of grown-ups.”  I’ve been thinking lately that I hate this adulting thing, too.

Lying on my yoga mat the tears well up in my eyes. The instructors repeat this often:  Letting go of thoughts and feelings that don’t serve us can often manifest itself in strong emotions during class. Even though this is a practice, and every time I step into the hot room I’m repeating the exact same postures in the exact same order, today’s class is the most difficult I can recall in months.  I am struggling to get through, uncharacteristically taking a break to lie down in the middle of standing separate head to knee pose.  All I can think is I don’t want to work so hard anymore, not at yoga, maybe not at anything. 

I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove I am not a sloth.  It doesn’t matter that I can’t remember where I ever came up with the idea I deserve the label.  Maybe it’s a product of my contempt for the painful shyness I’ve slowly learned to accept and manage over the course of my adult life.  I have never been afraid of the work, just afraid to put myself out there.  And so I go the extra mile, ensure I’m extra prepared because when I do speak up, I need to be certain my facts are correct, my thoughts measured and logical.  I wonder if this compulsion to prove my fortitude has just worn me out over time.

There is no doubt adulting is a lot of work, in fact there are times when it feels like a chore. It requires, among other things, discipline, maturity, accountability and consistency to fulfill our obligations and keep our dependents safe and sound. It means doing the right thing when no one is looking, because our kids are looking.  They are always looking. It can seem like our lives are not our own.

But adulting also brings autonomy, the privilege of choice and a delicious freedom to express ourselves. We get to live life on our own terms, to create a sanctuary we call home that may look vastly different than where we came from. Adulting brings a tremendous amount of joy if we can allow ourselves to experience it.  I’m taking steps to not only recognize it when it shows up in ordinary time, but to seek it out and allow some space to invite it in.  Because we should be able to carry out our responsibilities and care for the ones we love without taking everything so seriously.  Adulting shouldn’t always be hard.     

Of course I will go back to yoga in a day or two.  I will continue to push myself. And I’ll also be a little kinder to myself.  It’s hard to compare yourself to others in the hot room; you’ll fall out of the posture the moment you take your eyes off yourself. I’ve been called out by an instructor as the strongest person in the room. Others must be allowing themselves the breaks I can’t seem to grant myself. I decide the world will not end if I choose to contribute not only to the energy in the room, but also the humanity.  

I wish I could I tell my son the challenges of adulting will pass, that it’s only a phase or a rite of passage.  But the reality is adulting is demanding at its onset, and continues to play a refrain throughout the course of any life. What I can encourage him to do is to be grateful for his independence, and to seek out and embrace the joy and solace there for the taking.  He’s on a journey every one of us on the planet, no matter who or where you are, finds rocky at intervals along the way.  Sometimes it’s just helpful to know we’re not alone.