I found myself on the swings the other day, and to be perfectly honest it is just as fun at twenty-one, as it was at six. The working of gravity, and mild adrenalin was the gingerly rush I needed that day. It caused me to wonder, am I really an adult yet? My age says one thing, but reality says another.
In my younger years I constituted an adult as an individual who had the ability to drive, a job, and was above the age of 18. But the truth is there’s so much more to it. Adulthood is an art form; it requires discipline, restraint, routine and a powerful set of principles that can only be derived from experience.
Undoubtedly there are pigments of adulthood in all of us, but there are significant lapses also. Many of us, myself included, plummet into feeble, child-like behaviour on a Saturday night. In fact, the emergence of the game Drunk or Kid proves my point. The reality is I still appreciate afternoon naps, understand the importance of keeping the balloon off the ground, and regularly check my height under a disillusioned hope I still may grow a few centimetres. I’m also still yet to see the value in my parent’s catchphrase ‘you’ll understand when you’re older.’
Truthfully, the rush to grow up seems like a waste. A child-like mind sees a world of possibility and endless options, whereas an adult view is settled and complacent. This is why the overwhelming majority at university are young; they’re curious and eager to see what’s out there. But, an adult would rather spend their nights at home. One day I’m sure the appeal of being part of the youthful culture will subside, but at present it is synonymous with inspiration and possibility. Being a child at heart never felt so good.