I’ve had lots of opportunities to be a grownup this week. I rose to some of them. Not all.
It does get easier, grownuphood. I suppose it’s one of those tradeoffs for the indignities of aging.
When I was young, I was young. Not adult at all. My father suggested I should take Katherine Hepburn as a role model. He meant rachet back on the displays of emotion, I think, and stop flying off the handle quite so often. I can’t say for certain if I interpreted him correctly, High WASPs do so love the indirect. But let’s say I got it right.
Then, in my 40s, a manager suggested I focus on “executive presence.” Similar implications. And so I have tried to grow up, ever since.
It’s helped to realize that the lost handle grips, the non-executive outbursts, resulted from a sort of zero-to-60 emotional range. In other words, I’d hold it together as long as I could, and then exceed my capacity without warning. Pow. The glass of red wine dumped onto a white table cloth, a teacup thrown across the room.
High WASPs are kind of comical in their rages, with teacups as props. But one works with what one has.
The blog has helped. Providing, if you will, a built-in 35-50 buffer zone. There’s always time to take a deep breath, and reflect, when you’re writing. More and more I try to extend that breath to life. To pause, and keep the eye of consciousness focused benignly on my self.
Doesn’t always work. I hope I’ve got time to practice.
Here’s to adulthood, whenever it finds you. That when you’re found, it feels less like restraint and more like grace. And, oh yes, those are wholly gratuitous photos of white roses. Because another good part of adulthood is planting the flowers you like best.
Have a wonderful weekend.