The fears of adulthood hover over me like ominous shadows. Mine and my boyfriend’s bills are going to triple in a month. Today we have gas, food and a cell phone to pay, and in a few weeks we will have that plus a car payment, insurance, rent and other miscellaneous household expenses to take care of, and we will have to do it all on our own. The fear of being able to afford everything to furnish the new apartment still worries me at times, too.
And it is not only the monetary deficit of adulthood that scares me, but the realization that youthful enjoyments are on the decline. My boyfriend already works a six day week, managing the Canton Radio Shack, and in less than a year, I will be job searching for my possible career. And then what about when I begin my Master’s program next summer? Will I be able to juggle working, bills, school, and also making time for a bit of relaxation and fun? I have already witnessed the downfall of friends’ social lives as a result from career paths, and it does not give me much hope. If I, and everyone I know are too busy for ourselves, then how will we ever manage to make time for each other?
I observe my nineteen year old sister with her nine month old twins, and I am greatful not to be a mother, yet. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my niece and nephew, and I hope to one day share in the happiness of raising my own children, but the status of motherhood cultivates responsibilities that are sometimes equivalent, and most of the time supercede those liabilities associated with certain job descriptions. I am dubious about being able to take care of myself right now. I could not fathom having to be the sole person responsible for two babies. Yes, my sister is a single mother, and that makes my adulthood fear even greater.
Being a parent basically dictates that you will have sleepless nights, whether the cause is worrying about your children’s safety, or whether you are going to be able to keep a roof over their head and food on the table.
My mother single-handedly raised my six sisters and me, and I know for a fact that she worried about being able to provide for us.
The realization of my age is another fear. I am going on twenty-two, and yes, I know that I am still young, but before, I was counting down to my twenty-first birthday, and now, I am dreading every day I get closer to thirty. Most might say that it is petty to worry about age right now, but in the realm of all possibilities for my life—furthering my education, starting/building my career, building a family, and leaving a legacy—it really is not that petty. Plus, think about it. In the eighteenth century, women were considered a old maid by there early twenties, if she was not yet married. Most women were popping out babies before their twentieth birthday. It is true that many women during this time would not have left the house to do anything productive outside of housework, but it is still an interesting, and somewhat relevant comparison to ponder.
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