A 24-Year-Old Child

As I jump off the swing in the public park, I observe the nostalgic feeling that filled my adult heart, the very heart that once was a child. It has been years since I stepped on a playground, knowing I can’t fit in some sections and the idea of going to the slide made my stomach do a nervous churn. The swings, seesaw, and jungle bars made me notice how stiff my body had become over the years of idle exercise. My body did not feel like a child, but the little trill I received from something so simple made me smile a lot.

I do not recall when my heart became cold, hard, and it only trusted the facts. I cannot give the time, date, or place when I was no longer a child. In a way, I am still a child to many adult protocols, like taxes and how to make adult friends. The fact that I have not been an adult for long means I am still a child to other people’s eyes. I am still in my 20s, a time when everything is so confusing that you start to question if there are adults out there.

Being in my 20s is like being in a store having separated from your party. You wander off to find something and then you return to the last place you saw your party. They are not there anymore, so panic sets in. You check everywhere for your party, your eyes looking at every face that walks by you. The feeling of fear guides you on your search until relief floods in when you finally spot the people you are looking for. You might want to cry because of how alone you suddenly feel during the search. You might be mad at yourself for even walking away from the group or you are upset toward the group leaving you.

The adult heart has a similar effect. Age, the government, high school graduation, insurance companies, car rental companies, and citizens of planet Earth will dictate when someone becomes an adult, but does it link the person’s consistent need for simple, familiar things that once brought them joy? Why do past decade styles and mindsets keep showing up today, but not to the full extent? We want to be in the Roaring 20s, just without the crime, desegregation, discrimination, and transportation. I, of course, personally blame Hollywood of this one.

This is the thing about becoming an adult. There is no defined line to cross—and bam—you are an adult. The line moves around for each person. It can be crossed at an early age or when you are way past the “adult” duration. The time, place, and event that makes someone an adult is like a snowflake. There are no two alike. I am not past this line, but I am more independent then I was when I graduated from high school. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see a 12-year-old in the reflection. It was the time when I first started to see the real world, the painful, unforgiving side of the world. It still stuns me knowing I have been out of college for a year, with a Bachelor’s degree rotting under my desk.

To me, I wear my masks everyday, but I question myself after the day ends if any one of the masks I put on made me feel happy. Did anything make me feel that rushing freedom I felt as a child when I played in kiddy pools or went roller skating? I find my happy place when I cannot come up with an answer.

I imagine being in the backseat of a car, my hair whipping around my face as the sun and wind washes over me. The music to a good 80s pop song blares over the wind, and people are singing in the front seats. I hear someone laugh and I smile at how free I am feeling right at that moment. That is when I truly feel like a child again. It is simple and there is nothing to worry about in that time. I am not the driver of the car, but a 12-year-old child in the back, watching the world going past me. There is no sense of control where I am sitting and the driver, who is singing out of key in the front seat, is guiding me toward my future.