Funny that in the last post I called myself an old woman for whom time flies faster than she can fathom. Because suddenly thanks to
the Franz, I find myself wondering what in the world makes an adult? And when do we really think of ourselves that way? And will I ever? Aren't we all secretly just masquerading. Getting better at doing the things we don't really want to do and dealing with the things that scare us and disgust us, but still, really, just absolutely clueless? I remember the first time I had to kill a roach, instead of standing on the toilet seat and screaming for some adult to come and help me. It was a big moment. Maybe my feelings of being trapped at age 23 have something to do with not having a truly adult skill. I don't do surgery, or trade securities or run a business. I don't climb telephone poles, or dissect tissue in a lab or write code upon which the world depends.
The Franz seems to mourn the loss of real adults. People who are certain of their age and maturity. People who no longer feel like rebels or poseurs. They make better parents, better citizens, he told
Terry Gross on Friday. I'm not so sure. Maybe when and if I ever become certain of my adulthood I'll see the wisdom of his words, but for now I tend to like it when I see a little bit of the kid showing through in otherwise totally adult people. How 'bout you?
I just listened to that interview and when he said he finally feels like an adult (at 51!) I coughed into my coffee. It made me laugh and it made me think and feel a little sorry for him. And then I found out that FREEDOM is on Oprah's book list and that the book will have an Oprah sticker on it and that the one with the sticker will be $1 more. And then I just got depressed. And for the record. I don't think anyone's really an adult. We are all just faking it. xx
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