…you were only prepared for things to go right.
Welcome to being an adult.
I’m not sure if it is normal to be able to pinpoint the exact moment that one’s young adulthood starts, but this is true for me…
My journey to this moment, writing this blog, has been filled with all of the makings of a good coming-of-age story. There was a tooth-achingly sweet first love with a side of betrayal, some cry-at-the-beach-in-a-hoodie moments, a few heart-breaking funerals featuring I-told-myself-I-wouldn’t-cry speeches, and much, much more.
While approaching young adulthood, I felt supported. This support came in the form of books, movies, conversations, and school experiences. In the form of family members, friends, parents of friends, and coaches. In the form of influencers, YouTubers, podcast hosts, and celebrities. One might even look at this list and call it ‘society’ or maybe, ‘culture’. Whatever the word may be, I felt that through all of these threads I had been given the knowledge I needed to proceed. I trusted what I had been told in my life so far and believed I would be able to navigate my life to come.
Months away from being launched into the next phase of my life, otherwise known as college, I felt confident. Armed with 18 years of schooling, rich conversations, and perspectives gained from living in different cities, how could I not be prepared for adulthood?
For a long time, I thought this support was built from diamonds, the hardest naturally occurring substance on Earth. But in time, I learned that it was made of wood. Wood can be quite strong, but it has undeniable breaking points. Imagine a boardwalk that extends out into the ocean. It can withstand the minute to medium waves, but what about larger waves? When waves the size of grief and anguish roll in, the wood may start to splinter. Because grief and anguish are persistent forces, the waves keep coming and splinter by splinter, the structure may just deteriorate entirely.
Resigning myself to be an observer of this decided destruction, I learned that the external support I had gained was strong, but that it only tolerated moderate waves. It felt like the world could only hold me when life was going relatively well. But when things got really hard and very sad, I found myself cast into the sea to navigate the rough waters alone.
If you haven’t picked up on the fact that young adulthood is my focal point then I will just make that clear right now. That being said, I haven't spent much time thinking about the meaning of childhood and adolescence. Although, from what I have gathered, there is a strong theme of preparedness. It seems that parents, teachers, mentors, and influencers strive to help form their children, pupils, mentees, and followers in ways that leave them prepared for life. I can’t help but wonder though, how thorough is this preparation? Are we truly being prepared for life, or are we simply being prepared for things to go right? If so, what happens when everything that can go wrong, does go wrong?
Now, to that specific moment I was talking about. Some memories are so crisp and clear that you just know they will either remain with you until the day you die or they will follow you into your next life. This is one of those.
We were in the first room right at the entrance of the ER. The clear sliding door was open and just outside, I could see gurneys sectioned off by curtains. I couldn’t help but take the fact that we were in a room as a bad sign. Curtains weren’t enough. We needed 3 solid walls to contain our emergency. Of course, it was also the myriad of different doctors and nurses that ran in and out in a matter of minutes. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew it was happening fast.
It took 1 minute for my dad to ask me to take him to the hospital, 2 minutes to put on our coats, 13 minutes to drive, 1 minute to make an illegal u-turn, 30 seconds to drop him off at the front, 2 minutes to park, 1 minute to meet him at the sign-in desk, 30 seconds for him to forget his birthday, 2 minutes for them to rush him to the ER, 3 minutes for him to lose his speech altogether, and 5 minutes for him to go unconscious. You might be asking, what was the moment that your young adulthood started. Or you might not care at all, but I am going to tell you anyway.
Somewhere in the revolving door of medical personnel, a nurse stopped to talk to me. It was one of those moments where the world is spinning around you, but you manage to share a private moment. In a romcom, it would have been a moment shared between two lovers, but that would have been too easy.
The world right in front of me, slowed down for just enough time to allow for 3 exchanges of words.
She stopped in the doorway and asked, “How old are you?”
I looked up from what was a phone, but was now a dead battery, in my hand and said, “I turned 18 two months ago”.
With a shrug of her shoulders, she very nonchalantly replied, “Well. Welcome to being an adult”.
That was it. That was the moment my young adulthood started. My life up until this moment and the 30 or so minutes prior, had been a dream. I had experienced enough drama and pain to keep things interesting, but I was whole. Whenever a problem presented itself, I was always armed with three defenses; I am healthy, I feel loved, and my family is safe. After this moment, my defenses seemed to leave in the reverse order that they had arrived. My dad wasn’t safe, he was gone. I didn’t feel loved, I felt loss. And, I wasn’t healthy, I was traumatized.