“Sometimes you have to grow up before you appreciate how you grew up.”- Daniel Black
I awkwardly slid my purse onto the table and slumped into my chair, but then immediately realized I was on an official “date” that I initiated, so I probably shouldn’t look like I was there against my will.
I had, after forcing myself to get an online dating profile, found myself at the local Tex-Mex restaurant “Chuy’s.” I asked the middle school math teacher what particular childhood trauma made him into who he was today, full well knowing I would never talk to him again after the first date.
During the car ride back to my dorm room, the silence was the loudest noise except for the low hum of the car engine and my occasional defeated, teary-eyed sniffles.
It does not scare me that I’m in the dating scene. Nor could I bring myself to care.
It scares me that I am growing up or, in a sense, failing at growing up.
So, how do I grow up effectively?
First, reflect on how you have changed.
Growing up as a pastor’s child, I grew up pretty fast. I was always at church meetings, usually in charge of other older children or sitting in the back doing homework. I accompanied my parents to hospitals and ICU rooms more than school field trips. I remember at a young age sitting in a church member’s living room at 2 a.m. watching his wife, who had just overdosed and died, being wheeled out of the house on a gurney.
At the time, I never really understood why I was subjected to the stale-smelling inertia of a waiting room for seven hours. Yet, I have come to realize it taught me about patience, empathy, and hope more than anything else.
Not only did I memorize the labyrinth of the local hospital, but I became aware of the reality of life and began bracing myself for times of difficulty.
Reflection is a crucial aspect of growing up. Everyone has heard the saying “Don’t let history repeat itself,” and that does not strictly pertain to world wars or political movements.
You have changed for a reason. Do not backtrack.
Second, Feel comfortable with the change around you.
A friend that I graduated high school with is planning to apply to be a substitute teacher. I have to file for taxes and choose from the myriad of options where I want to work. Couples from my high school are getting engaged and having children.
It is okay to feel discomfort when thinking about how different your current situation was from when you were younger, just as it is entirely normal to want to go back.
I would do anything to experience high school basketball again. The weekend retreat games and late-night hotel pizza parties. The familiar sound of the scoreboard buzzer when my friend and I realized we had just won our first tournament as captains.
Nightmares of my parents losing me at the grocery store have turned into nightmares of losing my parents. The regret of not ordering Thursday pizza in grade school has been replaced with the guilt of my selfishness in not staying with my dog in his final moments because I couldn’t bear to watch him die.
Even though you have grown into a life that has much higher stakes, combat the fear and uncertainty with reassurance. You have made it this far.
And with that, grasp what you have learned.
I am struggling writing this piece, so I opened up a journal in which I intermittently wrote for some essence of inspiration. I read this excerpt from February: “Maybe this is my rock bottom. Usually, with rock bottom, it is implied that one only goes up from it, but I don’t see myself going up. Maybe my ‘rock bottom’ is just my new normal.”
I have understood what it feels like to not be enough. I can safely say that I have felt genuinely hopeless. Life has felt worthless, but I have learned valuable lessons throughout those times because of the gentle passing of life’s seasons.
My parents were married when they were 20, the same age I found myself riding back from another failed date. As I parked my car in the Johnson parking lot and sat in deafening silence, somewhere in pain, I realized that I was right where I needed to be.
Then, a memory came to me. I was hurriedly walking up to my kindergarten teacher and placing a scribble-filled green coloring picture onto her desk. All I wanted to do was be first, and when you were young, being first meant being the best.
“Take it back to your seat and work on it more,” she said as one of my classmates came up behind me to submit his crafted work. “You can do better than that; you just need to take your time.”
