what it feels like to leave adolescence
Tince the year has come to do the masters in London, then the writing work for a national newspaper, each step raising the stakes higher and higher. When you’re flying high you don’t want to fall – especially when mom and dad have seemed to take their eyes off you, dive bombing and curls in the sky.
In college, I reluctantly called home every two weeks. Now it’s every three days. Affective independence scares me as much as financial independence. I pass before them every decision, professional or even personal, and each time their answer becomes more vague and indifferent. “I thought we let him take care of all this when we dropped him off in the hallways?” But I don’t want to be wrong for fear of being told to start over.
Turning 23 can bring some surprising benefits to the office dog-eating dog world. Well, you don’t have to eat a dog because you are still considered a youngster and you feel like you are being given certain freedoms. You are still learning after all. But there is no such thing as a 24-year-old prodigy. The added pressure of being alive at work, seeing me stay most nights, lest a drop of Guinness ruin everything the next day of writing. Instead of sambucca shots in the Student Union, I go down kombucha in front of the television. It’s survival of the fittest and I can’t let my guts wreak havoc with my sleep pattern.