That's when we grab hold of whatever it is we fell into

Alright, so the election's over. My candidate won, by a margin that I find excessively appropriate. Frolicking IWU students on the quad last Tuesday night broke into a spontaneous round of the national anthem (who knew that could happen?). And, for the most part, everyone has been nice enough to keep their assassination half-jokes to a minimum. So on to more important matters: my birthday.

I'm not sure if this is a purely American thing or not, but Americans sure are good at taking relatively arbitrary points in time and making monumental events out of them. Exhibit A: My Super Sweet 16. Exhibit B: Valentine's Day. Exhibit C: 21st birthdays, which mark both (either ironically or appropriately) the dual pleasures of legal alcohol consumption and obligatory adulthood. Most people I know who have already crossed this magical threshold, at some point a few days or weeks immediately preceding or following the big day, took pause to think about whether or not they did, in fact, feel like an adult yet. And I've never claimed to be original, so: Do I feel like an adult yet?

Well, sure. I'm holding down jobs and classes, juggling a schedule that I would say qualifies me to be a "responsible young lady." I pay for the rent on my apartment and receive utility bills sent to my name. Plus, I've always been an independent person (not necessarily in the Destiny's Child way, but more in the "Leave me alone, I don't want to play your stupid Power Rangers game" kind of way).

And in other ways, of course, absolutely not. I've still never had to cook for myself (qualified by periods of a few weeks where I actually have had to cook for myself and failed miserably, living off marathon amounts of Captain Crunch and raw carrots). And I'm more than happy to come home for breaks and summers, resuming a life of sleeping in, immersing afternoons in books and Law and Order, working a leisurely part-time retail job. And as far as I know, one of my parents still claims me as a dependent on their taxes.

Despite this speculation, though, I'm ready to come to terms with the fact that I'm probably never going to come to terms with adulthood. Realistically, I'm probably as much of an adult as I'll ever be; I'll just hopefully get a little wiser or something over the next half century. Enough aged-30+ parents, teachers, customers, acquaintances, and strangers have told me "when I look in the mirror, I still see my 20-year-old self" for me to believe that right now, or any other arbitrary time, is about as real as it's going to get. So while I'm still open to the possibility of a Grown-Up Book Of Knowledge falling on my head at exactly 7:11 p.m. on December 1st, I'm not going to be broken hearted if the only thing that falls on me is snow. Or presents.