(English major, I am not. But possibly Yoda's understudy.)
Everyone makes the realization at some point in his or her adult life that people can no longer be divided into neat and nice categories. When I attended college, those in the parental category resided in a completely different box than I. When in high school, I lived miles away from my parents' neighborhood, figuratively speaking of course. I thought everyone would always stay clearly defined, mostly by the contents of the box in which they were placed.
Not exactly the case anymore.
It starts with the realization that there's really not a magic door leading to "your life." It has always been going on. It goes back to your first kiss, the numerous trips to the library, climbing trees, playing tricks on your sister...I didn't know there would never be a moment I'd look back on and say, "that is the moment I crossed over into adulthood."
I thought it would happen.
That my fairy godmother would appear in a dream, looking like Meryl Streep in some ridiculous vapor form, and hit me with a magic wand that imparts wisdom and a great womanly figure. I would wake up and be moved into the parent/adult category.
No. Instead, I while cooking supper one day, I thought about my grandmother doing the same thing over and over, many days of her life, and made the realization that my grandparents are people. My mom has a story outside of me and my sister. People I have looked to in my life for wisdom and direction lived with passions and real feelings.
These "adults".....they are in the same category as me.
And everyone else. Even my baby girl.
Then, later that week, I also realized that I'm not just connected to my family in this way, but I'm connected to humanity in this way also and every way possible. (by "later that week" I mean I have no idea when I was thinking about this.) I'm not the only one that has felt the exhilaration of completing a run, who has felt the pleasure and gratification of a job well done. I'm not the first person to understand the gravity of a life long commitment and relish the fact that my spouse and I love and respect one another after going through life together for a decade. I'm not the first mother and certainly not the first person to love and be loved; to hurt and inflict pain. To be.
And compared to older and wiser souls, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. But I hope that some day I'll be considered wise and will have the pleasure of watching my own children figure this out for themselves. Maybe my husband and I will even be able to discuss it over a nice cup of coffee on the back porch while our grandchildren frolic in the yard. And my children will hold me in high regard because I will be well traveled, wildly funny and an extremely good cook; not to mention as wise as Grandmother Willow. Pretty much everything covered in Proverbs 31.
Cheers, to you, humanity. Until next time!