Adulthood

First of all, I've made it to Baghdad and settled in! Our house here is older and not quite as nice as the one in Erbil, but it's comfortable enough and I'm pretty well nested into my new dwellings.

Now, onto adulthood. I was reading this article on the New York Times today, and as a 26 year old, I have to say, I find it a little amusing every time I read something written by someone in their fifties about the plight of "kids today." 

I'll be totally honest, I don't always necessarily identify as an adult, and it's not because I'm lost and misguided, or because I lack financial resources, or because I still depend on my parents (love you, mama! Thanks for raising me to be independent). It is, by and large, because I don't necessarily or inherently want those things that are the big markers of adulthood--- a house, a spouse, children. Not that I don't want those things, but they are definitely not the milestones by which I measure my life. I want a career, and yes, as mentioned in the article, I want one with meaning. As the American work week has increased, and the likelihood of social security for my generation has decreased, I fully understand that I could be working 60 hours of my week for the rest of my life, and so yes, I want a job that I enjoy and that gives me a sense of passion and purpose. But this isn't a mindless endeavor on my part, or wishful thinking. I understand that to be able to do this effectively, I have to cultivate skills to make it happen. And I'd like to think that I have done so. (I am here, after all). 

There are aspects of "adulthood" that really appeal to me, and it's only been since I've been here that I've really thought about how to define my own version of adulthood. There are a lot of adults, as I think of them, who I really admire, but few who I look up to as a potential model for my own life. My life, my adulthood, is going to look different than the adulthood that came before me. And as long as that's true, and I lack something to model it after, I struggle to define myself as an adult.

This is something I've been thinking about a lot since I've been here, and after watching Aja Monet's "What I've Learned," I wrote my own version. So here's what I've learned in my short time here...

I know that the human brain is still developing to age 26. I think about this a lot, because at 26, my brain is solidifying into the person I will be for the rest of my life. I hope she's someone I like.

I know I'm young, at times needlessly brash and at times painfully subdued. Even at my age, or maybe because of it, I know the system in which we live is broken. But a glass of red wine after a long day and good conversation can put one of the pieces back into place. A protest can too. 

The sound of laughter, unbridled, is beautiful, and the turn of a page is entrancing, and a certain mix of spices can evoke just about anything-- fear, travels long forgotten, my childhood kitchen.

I know that 6 elements make up something like 80% of the planet's composition. I am, literally, stardust. And rain. And science is the closest thing I understand to the divine. Don't get me wrong, it is divine. Magic exists, in the atoms that create our universe, in the shapes of clouds, in the sounds of rain and the minerals in dust. 

I've learned that death is a consequence of living, that life is best spent engaged, and that I know how to disengage with the best of them. Waiting is a luxury afforded to the living. 

I know art has the power to connect people through its beauty, and that power should not be used frivolously, but to draw attention where it is needed most. I don't use art enough as a means of self-expression. Sometimes I wish I still did. I know that graffiti and tattoos are the strongest form of visual art to me. Maybe it's the contrast between the fleeting and the permanent. I know that a pen is a powerful weapon, and mine seems to be low on ink. Too often, I don't wield my pen carefully enough.

 I know the game is rigged against me as a woman, but that the rigging isn't tied as tight on me as it is on others. Even with dice loaded, I know I want to play, to try to make it better for the next person. I know that desperation looks the same around the world. It looks like scared children, hungry men, rocks pitted against guns, and women with loads too heavy for their backs to carry. 

I know that anger and disillusionment is an easy default in this world we live in-- for me as much as anyone. But I know people, against all odds, survive.