prelude: a notion i've had

It’s fleeting.  An allusive idea I chase and dodge all at the same time. Becoming an adult.  A grown-up.  A woman.  

The term ‘woman’ has always scared me a little.  It is a proud word resonating with meaning I still don’t understand.  My mom is a woman.  My aunts, my grandmas.  My teachers growing up were women.  Adults who can juggle it all.  Tender, yet strong.  Women who cook dinner and go to the gym and send birthday cards on time.  Modest and brave, who never complain. Who wear lipstick.  In public.  I always feel self-conscious about wearing lipstick.  Like I’m asking people to stare at me.  A woman.  In the mirror, I see a bold stranger, not the little girl I try to convince myself I still am.  Can I be a woman?  A girl, yes, obviously. But, have I earned the right to call myself a grown-ass adult?

I asked my roommate once when she started calling herself a woman.  It was a Tuesday afternoon and she had just gotten back from the gym. She didn’t  hesitate.  Didn’t flinch.  Didn’t even seem to think it was a random question.  She said it was when she started learning about awareness and the powerful place women have held in history.  What they’ve fought to have.  She wanted to associate herself with it.  Gosh, it’s why I love her.  

I didn’t have an answer.  

Did I become an adult when I graduated college?   When I realized, if I wanted to watch Chelsea Lately, I had to pay for cable.  Maybe it started when I stuck out a year with that first boss who made Meryl Streep in the The Devil Wears Prada seem like a kindergarden teacher. Could it be that I never feel more like a woman then when I’m with a man?  

That realization makes my shoulders tense and my stomach clench in knots.  I grew up with the Spice Girls. Women’s soccer.  All Girl Power t-shirts and affirmative action.  There was nothing I wasn’t allowed to do as a girl.  Why didn’t I feel more liberated?

I’m still jealous of her answer.

But tonight, I had a thought.  Sitting for a moment at the end of a smooth and productive day.  A beautiful night. This distance sense of assurance.  A sense of accomplishment. A beat within a moment that fits perfectly in sync with where I am in time.  I am where I am suppose to be.  I am an adult. 

I won’t last. Not yet.  But, hopefully, the next assured breath will come sooner.

So, this is my answer.  

Here I am, turning twenty-five this year.  Two years out of college, and I have figured a lot out.  Exciting job. Wonderful boyfriend.  All my bills get paid and there is still extra for some fun.  But mostly I’m learning that I’ll never really ‘figure it out.’  The best I can do is catalogue the experience.