“What’s your major?” At first listen there’s nothing offensive about this question. Except it pegs me as a bright-eyed undergraduate student, one who hasn’t yet stepped into the real world. In reality, I’ll be twenty-eight in a week. I don’t look young for my age. I have wrinkles and grey hair. I graduated college at twenty. I started grad school at twenty-two. If I had stayed in school, I’d have a PhD by now and go by Dr. Najva.
So, it’s somewhat nonsensical that when I accompanied my mom to a friend’s party during my recent trip home, people (some younger than me) continued to ask me about “how college is going.” Of the sixty or so people there, everyone kept guiding me to befriend the nineteen-year-old sophomore also in attendance. Not that I mind, she was a sweet human—and chatting with her didn’t cost me anything. But there’s something grating about having people ostensibly younger than you suggest you sit at the metaphorical kids’ table.
Because that’s what those codified questions are really saying. “You’re not an adult yet, right?” Because how could you be an adult with blue hair. And no husband. And no mortgage. And no baby. And no suit. And facial piercings. How could you have traveled to DC midweek? How could you have so few responsibilities?
On the same trip, I treated my mother to dinner as a belated Mother’s Day celebration. She seemed surprised that I could foot the bill. I had to remind her that she’d already been married and pregnant at my age. Her response? “You’re still a kid till you have a kid of your own.”
A few years ago, I was passed over for a job I was gunning for after the third round of interviews (for the record, turns out I dodged a bullet) and the first thing my mom said was, “It’s probably because of your hair.” That’s not surprising, since my dad repeatedly asks me when I’m planning to get a real haircut, and my mom has told me on multiple occasions that she’d never hire a stranger who looked like me. She’d assume I was lazy and unemployable. For reference, my mom’s a dentist, and I used to manage her office during my summers… and her patients still tell her they miss me.
This whole “don’t judge people by their cover” thing is not a new discussion. We’ve already talked about why millennials aren’t buying homes and how marriage is complicated for queers (see also: low chance of unplanned children/just got ability to legally marry) but to me, not having a child or homeowner’s debt or conservative appearance doesn’t mean I haven’t grown up. And this is where my immigrant parents and I differ.
By definition an adult is someone who is “fully grown.” #Adulting is even a slang term, akin to: being actively responsible for important duties, AKA making good life decisions. On days I’m binge watching Netflix and crying, I’m not adulting. But most days: I work long hours, I run a business, I consult on the side, I oversee all the marketing for my mother’s office. I’ve filed corporate taxes on my own. I’ve served my time on jury duty. I’ve been a featured speaker for an honors program at a college. Students have studied my essays. I’ve been on the same lease for four years. I cook hearty meals from our local, organic farm-share, and make chicken stock on the regular. I’ve helped friends with both financial and wedding planning. Soon, I’ll play crazy aunt to their kids. I have excellent credit. This year, I’m starting my retirement fund.
But this isn’t what these “adults” see. They look for the markers that mean “adult” to their generation, and in that respect—I’m lacking. How can I go live for a month in Mexico? Why don’t I settle down? How can I post things to the Internet from my phone and call it “work”?
If it was just a few people at a party or two, I’d shrug it off. But these invalidating assumptions happen often: when I wear a backpack instead of a purse. Or when I choose to avoid crowds and schedule my haircut for 2PM. Or when I mention that I date multiple people. And the subtle cutting down of my perceived maturity is exhausting. I’m not in the sidelines, preparing for my real life to happen to me. I’m living it. This is what my version of “being a grown up” looks like.
There are moments where I just want to judge back. What’s so great about being married? I, personally, know four people getting divorces this month. Aren’t I smarter to have avoided that mess? And owning a home? I keep hearing stories about how my friends’ families are fighting the banks and massive debts to keep from foreclosure. And what about this emphasis on kids? Do you know how many terrible parents I’ve known? I don’t think all people are meant to be married for life, homeowners, or even parents. I’m not saying that my “adulting” won’t ever go down those more traditional roads, but if it does, it’ll be on my own terms. Why is it that when I live unconventionally, yet with integrity, I get less respect than someone who gave in to societal expectations they accepted without any introspection? And what if I do keep neon hair till I’m a hundred years old?
WHEN DID YOU FIRST FEEL LIKE AN “ADULT”? DO YOU Ever FEEL LIKE YOU’RE PRETENDING? WHAT DOES BEING A GROWN UP MEAN TO YOU, AND DO YOU EVEN WANT TO BE ONE?
