The things "they" never told me
Being an adult comes with some difficult revelations
Growing up, I was surrounded by good, Godly, caring people who were present and active and taught me many important things.
They spoke wisdom and love into my life, and (I think) did a largely admirable job in preparing me for adulthood. They spoke of pitfalls and gave advice in areas such as hard work and relationships. More to point, they lived lives that set examples for me to see and learn from.
Having established that, there were certain things that I was not prepared for in adulthood, things that no one warned me about, and these things have often been a source of struggle and angst.
And I think they knew these things! They knew. They just chose to let me find out for myself, I guess, likely in the name of “character building”.
Or they thought, “No one told us, so he’s on his own.”
But a heads up would have been nice.
Of course, I’m thinking here of things like:
How much of adulthood would involve forgetting why I went to the kitchen and then eating a cookie because that’s as good a reason as any.
How much of exercising as an adult would be spent waiting for my bike to reboot.
The joy of finally mastering how we fold towels, only to discover we changed the way we fold towels seven years ago.
How much of adulthood would be spent trying not to make eye contact with dogs while I’m eating.
How much of my mental energy would be taken up by wondering how people who serve water chestnuts with actual food can sleep at night.
How often I’d spend an evening in the ER with a child, only for hours later to hear the doctor say things like, “Mr. Mullins, this is going to be difficult to hear, but your son just needs to poop.”
How much I’d be wracked with anxiety over being late to the superhero movie trend and knowing with absolute certainty that I’m watching them out of order but being helpless to do anything about it.
How irrationally perturbed I’d get when I see a person walking on a street when there’s a perfectly good sidewalk three feet away.
How much brain power would be required to decide when it’s appropriate/sad to include a smiley face emoji in a personal and/or professional email.
How much of life would be eaten up by telling my kids how much a Happy Meal cost when I was a kid.
How ashamed I’d be for still using the phrases “Beat a dead horse” and “Kill two birds with one stone,” yet still using them because I can never think of anything better.
How people who use the phrase “I have no words” usually have the most words.
How much of kids’ sports involves not making eye contact with anyone official-looking at my daughters’ volleyball games so I’m not roped in being a line judge.
How much energy would be expended to get a toddler to look at a camera.
And, of course, never knowing which vegetation I’m allowed to aid in the control of:
Wife: You cut down my flowering plant!
Me: Oh, sorry! It looked like a weed.
It’s not a weed. It’s a plant.
But it looks just like the one next to it. You said that was a weed.
That one is. But the one you cut down is a plant. And when it blooms, it’s quite beautiful.
Ok, sorry. I thought it was a weed.
It’s not a weed.
Got it. What’s the plant called?
Satan’s Milkweed.
I was failed in some very important ways. I guess that’s the point.
Thanks for reading! Hoping your day is free of life-shaking revelations that could have at very least been easily communicated early in life.
I had no idea how many times I would pick up pillows from the floor to place back on the couch.
Oh, how much I identify with this list, mon frere. In particular, the towel-folding one. Too funny. And just yesterday, as I was driving my wife to a hair appointment, we passed a couple of people walking in the street and I commented on how there was a perfectly good sidewalk just three feet away. Ha! ~Ed.