Growing Up
Growing Up isn't comfortable. When you're a kid, you think that grown-ups have all the answers. They know everything, they know how to do everything, and if they don't know, they know right where to go to get the answers. It's almost as if there's a class you take that teaches you how to successfully navigate life.
And then when you reach about nineteen or twenty, you suddenly realize that there is no class. All adults are faking it. Some do a remarkable job, some are barely keeping up the performance, but we're all pretending. I'm twenty-four now, and I thought I'd have a better idea of how life works by now. Na-uh.
Don't get me wrong. Parts of growing up are fun. You create yourself, and if you do it right, you find that you can be a lot of fun to be around, most of the time. Of course, there's always room for improvement. You can find the most amazing friends who will be by your side whenever you need them, friends who do more than inflate your ego. Independence is fair equal parts scary and exciting. And finding which profession will spark passion inside of you is exhilarating! (Speech Therapy for me, if you didn't know. ^.- )
But you also have to leave parts of yourself behind. With independence comes responsibility, and responsibility is a long word that basically means you no longer get to do whatever you want, whenever you want. Which is pretty much the opposite of what kids think growing up is all about. The smart adults maintain as much of their childhood as they can, which includes doing things that seem pretty silly, such as playing Laser Tag. But there are things you just can't do anymore, because impressions really are important.
This whole post is my way of saying how annoyed I am that I can no longer leave funny messages on my cell phone voice mail. My alter ego can no longer take a message. I can't say the whole thing backwards. I can't say "If you were calling for Bethany, you've reached someone else. If you were calling for someone else, you've reached Bethany. Leave a message and someone will call you back." I can't talk about being dead, unless the caller will deliver donuts stat. I can't do any of these things, because people in my profession now have my number, and I will be giving prospective employers my number, as well. I don't mind them knowing that I retain a bit of whimsy, but they need to know I'm professional, as well.
And that means recording a boring message.
When I finally get settled somewhere, I am getting a land line, and then I will give my professional contacts THAT number, and they can listen to a succinct, boring message there. Then I will reclaim my cell phone for my own personal amusement.