They say we grow up. That at some point, somewhere between learning how to fold a fitted sheet and choosing salad over fries, we become adults. I’d like to state, for the record, that this is nonsense.
What we really learn is how to act normal while wearing pants that itch and nodding politely while someone explains mutual funds. We master the art of holding in a laugh during solemn moments, even when someone says “nut” with a straight face. We are, at best, taller children with mortgages.
For instance, I’m 42 years old. I have grey in my beard and opinions about grout. But yesterday, I spent twenty minutes making fart noises with my mouth while waiting for the kettle to boil. There was no audience. No child to entertain. Just me, my coffee mug, and a symphony of lip-flappers that would have made a seven-year-old proud.
I’ve learned to suppress this side of me in public. Most of the time. But every so often, it escapes. For example, when I see a sign that says, “Do not touch,” my entire body rebels. My brain turns into a kindergartener with a popsicle high, whispering, “Touch it. Just a little. You’ll be fine.”
And don’t even get me started on birthdays. The cake is smaller, the candles more concerning, but the desire to put on a paper hat and shout, “I’m the king!” remains fully intact. We don’t change. We just stop announcing it as often.
People think adulthood is about being serious. But I think it’s mostly about knowing when not to laugh when someone slips on ice (you wait until they’re okay) and pretending you don’t find the word “duty” funny (you do… of course you do).
There are days I try to be a proper grown-up. I eat spinach. I read news articles all the way to the end. I tuck in my shirt on purpose. But I also wear mismatched socks because I like the chaos. I dance while brushing my teeth. And once, during a work call, I accidentally unmuted myself while singing the theme to DuckTales. (There were follow-up questions.)
My point is that beneath every responsible-looking human is a small, chaotic creature who still wants dessert first, secretly makes sound effects while doing chores, and doesn’t really know what a deductible is but nods anyway.
We never grow up. We just get better at hiding the weird stuff. We develop what scientists might call “selective nonsense release.” In weddings? No. In private? Absolutely. During tax season? It depends on how bad it gets.
So here’s to the grown children in grown-up bodies. The ones who remember that joy doesn’t need a reason, that silliness isn’t something you outgrow, and that sometimes, the only way to make it through the day is to narrate your life in a British accent while doing the dishes.
We’re not grown-ups.
We’re just kids in shoes that cost too much.
And honestly?
That’s probably for the best.
The CJBuzz 