When I started my MA I had a conversation with another student who was in her early 30’s. I was complaining that I didn’t feel like a grown up yet, and I was starting to wonder if I ever really would. Worse still I suspected everyone else could tell I wasn’t a real grown up, like I was wandering around with a neon sign over my head advertising it. “Oh Letty” the other student said trying to reassure me “The world doesn’t neatly divide into who’s grown up and who’s not.” And I thought “Obviously you would say that you are firmly entrenched on the right side of the dividing line.” It’s been the best part of three years since I had that conversation and I’m still not sure which side of the line I’d come down on. Let’s consider the evidence.
Could a not grown up grow such an impressive girl beard?
I think not.
When I was staying on a residential course in July I stayed in the Halls of Residence on a University campus. One night a bonafide student came to the door selling wristbands to get three vodka shots for a pound at a local club. I sure felt like a grown up when I opened the door already in my pyjamas and said: “No thank you, children, I do not want to come drinking vodka with you on a Tuesday night.”
Not Grown Up:
Recently I found out that Super-Hero Barbie exists and there is no part of me that doesn’t want one. Her cape turns into a dress and her eye mask turns into a crown and she is just the coolest thing in all time history.
As mentioned in this post I have recently turned round my gardening fortunes and have been successfully rearing plants. What’s more adult than keeping something alive when its existence depends on you?
Looking good, cactus at the back.
Not Grown Up:
Full Disclosure – I did kill one of my cacti last week. I came into my studio after an absence and my mini cactus had gone brown and imploded. To compound the issue, I went on this cacti forum to see if anything could be done to save it and the expert said that my cactus was the worst potted plant she had ever seen. The cactus was too far down in the pot and had slowly suffocated which seems like an awful way to go.
I have spent a lot of the last year on the phone to the NHS and as a result, I’m now mastering the art of making official phone calls. I have my details to hand, I tell people I want to speak to someone who CAN help me, in short, I make things happen and it’s glorious.
You'd probably be better off talking to my brother about this.
Not Grown Up:
I am the youngest of three children and as such I will always be playing catch up in the grown up stakes. Also, I’m not sure if I’ll ever shake off that Pavlovian part of me that thinks, “Last time I counted I had two older brothers who would be better equipped to deal with this situation than me.” In my heart I will always and forever be the smallest Billy-Goat-Gruff.