What do you want to be if you don’t grow up?

Only the cheerful, incomprehensible and heartless can fly.



I always, always, always wanted to grow up. Adulthood seemed to me a time of independence from other people's ideas, rigid systems in which you are driven, like a corset, and the need to share a living space with someone.

Sometimes it seems to me that in my first marriage I literally ran away, and first of all – from home, because the thirst for separation was huge, and there was no brain enough to figure out how to do it without decisions of this magnitude. That's why I fucked up.

In principle,The house where I grew up always seemed like a place I could go back to if I pressed it down, and where I was supposed to always be welcome.

I remember that session at the psychologist when she told me that was not the case. That your parents’ house is your parents’ house, and yours is the one you build yourself, so be grateful to be allowed on your doorstep as a guest, no matter how many meters of it you own on paper. Leave your snort to yourself and do not go into another’s monastery with your own rules.





That truth then bent me in half. It took me a few years to really understand her. And start growing up.

Because Adulthood is always about understanding value and value.Things, relationships, tasks, consequences. When no one else comes and saves, and if you decide to derail your life, then go ahead and sing. Only then, without whining, complaints and offenses, there is no one to present them. To paraphrase the title of a famous book, “After eighteen, it’s too late.”

You understand that you grow up when you start to protect your knees, properly lift weights, dry your hair until the end of the winter with a hair dryer, rejoice when your coat covers your ass. You discover the unsophisticated charm of actually ordinary things, whose ugliness they like to scare in their youth: tights with hair, warm underpants, cotton underpants.

That's when you get shot in the back, you know how right Mom was. And already you dry your shoes every evening the day before, cover your neck with a scarf for three turns, put it under a sweater and a golfer, and a T-shirt, if necessary, and not only do you meekly stretch your hat on your head, but also the entire hood.

In the house suddenly appear ryazhenka and kefir, ointments from sprains in the first aid kit confidently press the alkoselzer, in the freezer - not only ice for whiskey, but also bones for soup. And when potatoes start to be stored in the potato drawer, and not the neighbor’s sled, you generally understand that there is no way back.

And you discover the special beauty of being fed, not you. The opportunity not to stand at the stove in the evening is taken with sincere joy, almost as a gift, and I am not ironic - you remember: every working woman needs a wife.





At some point you’re the same age as your parents and suddenly you realize that at 31, your mom had a seven-year-old son, your brother. How much younger she was, weaker and frailer than I am now: tossing between kindergarten, work and home, standing in endless queues, wearing prickly wool dresses, twisting her hair on curls. She didn’t have anything I have now, and I don’t have anything she already had.

You grow up when, instead of the repulsive fatigue on people's faces on the subway, you start seeing behind closed eyes stories: here's a sick child, here's a disintegrating family, here's children who don't call, here's a son who died.

And all these deep wrinkles, lowered corners of the lips, poorly painted roots and trampled backs of the soles of unfashionable shoes - not from laziness, closeness, "grayness" or emptiness inside, but from life. The one who wanted to give a shit about assurances like “anything is possible”, because “nothing” for a minute is possible to no less extent.





It is good if there is a person who you can rely on and rely on, but even better – to have the experience of standing on your two.A craft that can feed you, and a few hundred bucks in a sock under the bed just in case.





Relationships are like breathing, you can’t think about inhaling and exhaling every time.We all have our own happiness checkpoint.

Life is beautiful and amazing, the universe is wise and kind to me, but a sock will never hurt, never. If only because on some cold, desperate day you could go out and buy yourself a cup of hot chocolate.

TYou can.published



Author: Olga Primachenko





Source: gnezdo.by/blog/time-to-grow-up-dear-piter/