"Only 22"

Not so long ago, I was at an event with many people in the mid to late-20’s age range. I am only 22 (almost 23), but Billy is 27, and so are most of our friends. In the 5+ years that we’ve been together, I have never been made to feel like an outcast for being young, and it’s actually never been an issue. Well, save for the statutory rape jokes that Billy sometimes makes about the fact that I was 17 and he was 22 when we began dating, but I digress. I’ll just say it: I’m mature for my age. I may look 17, but people commonly assume I’m in my mid-twenties because of they way, they say, I carry myself.

Even when I was a kid, I grew bored of children’s books and movies at a very young age. Thinking back on the stuff my parents let me watch and read, my first instinct is to say, “I definitely won’t let my kids be exposed to adult content at such a young age,” but I have to remember the way I personally handled that content. And truth be told, I was a 12-year old who could not only watch, but could understand and even appreciate, movies like “American Beauty” and “Pulp Fiction”. My parents knew this, and it wasn’t uncommon for us to have discussions about the universe, religion, pop culture, and even sex. They in no way forced me to grow up. I guess I was just ready. And whenever people say that they wish they could just be a kid again, I can’t help but think that even though it’s stressful, I enjoy being an adult so much more. Which is why at 22, I’m still younger than I feel. I really can’t believe that I’m barely going to be 23 on my next birthday. Not that I’m in a rush to get old, because trust me, getting wrinkles and age spots scares the living CRAP out of me, but I just don’t feel the age that I am. I don’t know if I ever really have.

And back to the story: We are sitting at a table with mutual friends and acquaintances, all post-college, quarter-life age. One girl is talking about her desire to get married. She is 26. Soon we hear how she’s been with her boyfriend long enough, she’s educated, she has a career, and she’s tired of seeing all of her friends getting married, while her bachelorette status seems to have no end in sight. She is 26. She is getting old! She wants to move with her life! It’s just not fair! She is 26! By the way, she is saying all of this in front of her boyfriend, who kind of chuckles and says he doesn’t think there’s any need to rush. He asks what I think, and I respond by saying that I personally never felt the need to rush into marriage, especially knowing that I would be spending the rest of my life with my love anyway. The girl does not like my response, and she lets me know this by yelling at me in front of everyone at the table and making me feel like I have no idea what I’m talking about because I’m “only 22”.

This got me angry. But once that passed, it also got me thinking. What are with these goals that people are constantly trying to live up to by a certain age? Who says that we all need to be college graduates by our early twenties? Or, that we have to be college graduates period? Who says that once you graduate, you need to find a well-paying, professional job? And that after you do that, you need to be in a serious relationship with your future spouse. And that once you get married, you need to become homeowners of a place in the suburbs. And that once you’re married homeowners, you need to have some babies. WHO SAYS? Why do we all feel so much pressure by society to do things the “right” way? What is the right way, and why is it right?

Well, you know what, maybe there is no “one size fits all” when it comes to life. Maybe there is no right age to get married, or have children or pursue a new career. Maybe what works for some people, doesn’t work for others. Because we are all different. Groundbreaking stuff, I know. I’m personally sick of being judged based on being young, still in college, and already married. I’m tired of people assuming that I’m not getting all those crazy experiences that “everybody needs to have,” out of my system. That I’m naïve for settling down with my first love. And I’m really tired of people with kids telling me I shouldn’t have them. That I’ll be so much happier if I just don’t ever have kids. Yes, I’ve been told this by multiple people WHO HAVE KIDS. It’s like, seriously? Can you not fathom the possibility that just because maybe you needed to wait until later in life to get married, or that because you regret having kids, no one should?

It’s just astoundingly clear to me that there is no recipe for the perfect life. Even people who have been married multiple times, who have children with more than one partner, who’s to say they’re wrong? I know I catch myself casting judgment upon people whom I consider to have a less than ideal history. How do I know that they don’t have just as much love and fulfillment in their lives than those who come from what society deems an acceptable family or past? I really believe that we’re all just doing the best we can. We all make mistakes. We learn. What makes me happy, probably isn’t going to make the next person happy. And that’s the beauty of life, right? That we are all so different. So maybe we should celebrate those differences and stop trying to mold ourselves to be like each other.

Here’s something: I’ve been married over a year. My husband and I both have good jobs. We live a comfortable life, and we can afford a few luxuries like going to fancy dinners and taking weekend getaways once in awhile. We rent a really cute townhouse, in a really cute neighborhood.You’d think the next step in the equation would be to purchase a home. But you know what? I don’t want to. When I say that, people think I’m crazy, or maybe just poor. But it’s the truth. I have no desire to buy a house at this time in my life. I’m perfectly happy renting, and I like knowing that if any kind of opportunity should arise where we could travel or relocate, that we could just take it. I like not knowing where I’m going to be living for the next 30 years. I like not knowing.

Here’s another something: I personally struggle with the whole, “When are you going to have kids?” question. My answer changes daily. Some days, it seems absolute: In three years, when I’m done with school, and when we have some more money saved. It sounds like a good answer, and it usually satisfies people. But how do I know that I’ll be ready in three years; really ready? Sure, I may have some things accomplished by then, but how do I know that I’ll wake up one day, three years from now, and have the urge to be a mommy? What if I don’t? What if I’m never ready? Then there are days when I’m leaving my house for work, and I pass by a mom taking an early morning walk with her baby in the stroller, and I can’t help but envy her. There are days when the thought of having kids fills me with so much excitement, I fantasize about reading my children cherished childhood books, and taking them to museums, and enjoying the simple pleasures of being a family. And then I feel guilty when I think of the fact that when it comes to having children, my apprehension and fears outweigh my excitement. Which is okay, I suppose, because I’m “only 22”. I guess sometimes it’s okay to use that card.