Adulthood: A period also known as Shit Just Got Real

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A lot of people claim that adulthood is easy once you get the hang of it. Those people could just be liars. Or maybe being an adult isn’t that hard, and I’m the only one who still has to look up information like “Why do I have to drink water?” What if I drink a lot of Cactus Cooler? Water is the main ingredient in my favorite beverage. I also consume a lot of milkshakes. Milk comes from cows, and cows drink water.

I asked myself a long time ago what I really valued, and when I let all of the bullshit fall away, I realized that not dying was important to me. That’s why I devote so much time to thinking about important issues like water consumption and lesser items like manners and responsibility get the shaft. How important is it that I remember my brother’s birthday or pay my taxes on time if I’m dead due to dehydration?

Adulthood is not easy. It is so goddamn fucking hard. There are so many moving parts, especially when you are responsible for the happiness and well-being of a child. Motherhood + Adulthood = Shit just got real. Also, if you’re saddled with Character Bumps like laziness or slowpokiness (slowpokeness? slowpoke-itis?), then just go ahead and eat three slices of white bread like I’m doing right now. It’s a longer road for us, and we need the carbs and preservatives.

I’m not a proficient traveler, but…actually, there’s no but. I’m not a proficient traveler. If I had to guess which part of traveling I fuck up more-planning or execution-I’d say it’s an even split. Sometimes, I bungle both sides in one trip. I don’t think it’s a good idea to let Sometimes Adults travel on their own.

Last weekend, I went to San Francisco to attend the book launch party of my buddy, Ghetto Genius. I didn’t bother looking up my exact flight schedule or checking in early online because I was preoccupied with other activities like laying down. Friday morning, after repeated texts and emails from friends who were also flying in for the event, I searched my inbox for the confirmation email.

I wasn’t immediately alarmed when I couldn’t find the confirmation. No big deal. I could just look up my travel itinerary through the booking site. Then, I realized I was facing a few roadblocks. I couldn’t quite remember: 1) Which site I had used to book the ticket and 2) Which airline I was flying.

I started to panic, so I did what I thought was best. I laid down. Then, I texted three friends to ask, “Hey, did I ever tell you that I ACTUALLY booked the ticket or did I only say that I was THINKING about booking it?”

All three responded with variations of “How the fuck would I know?” If this situation has taught me anything, it’s that I need better friends.

I tried to sound casual as I spoke to the reservations lady at one of the airlines. “I’m pretty sure I have a flight today. I can’t find the confirmation email and I’m not 100% certain that it’s your airline. I also don’t know what time I’m flying out or if I really booked the ticket. Would you please check for me?”

“I bet you get phone calls like this all the time,” I added during the silence as she checked.

“Not to this extent, no.”

That admission might have made other people feel bad about themselves, but here’s the thing: It is impossible to be good at everything. Adulthood isn’t about being perfect. Just pick one thing that’s important to you (e.g. hydration) and dive into it. Make it your passion. Let that motherfucker blossom and grow.

P.S. Turns out, I *did* have a ticket to SF. It was wonderful to see J-Wunder and the Ghetto Genius Crew again. For pictures of the book launch party and other not-seen-on-this-blog snapshots, follow along on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress). For (t)hug life thoughts, “like” the Flourish in Progress Facebook page.

P.P.S. J-Wunder’s book Wait…What?!: Life Advice From A Ghetto Genius officially released today and already ranks in the Top 100 Humor Books in Love/Sex/Marriage on Amazon. So fucking proud of you. Nothing but love, homie.

artwork: Richie Stewart for Wander

Ain’t nobody fresher than my muthafuckin clique

keepyahead
Hitting people became a “necessary” tool because I couldn’t string together six words to form pithy and biting comebacks. The right response usually manifested 45 minutes too late so I did a lot of smacking back in the day to compensate. The privilege of growing older has brought clarity. Not wisdom, just clarity. I still lack the ability to understand the gravity of a moment as it is happening.

After years of going through weird shit, my head no longer allows my heart to feel grief. This coping mechanism turns my insides blank. I’m familiar with every dark corner when I stumble into Rage. The doorman and I have become pretty friendly at Happiness, so I kick it there as much as I can because he lets me in without all the posturing I had to do as an infrequent visitor.

Grief is, like, way on the other side of town. Fuck that shit. I ain’t got that kind of time.

Then, someone asked me, “Where would you go if you got into trouble?”

I didn’t understand the question. My first thought was “jail,” but that probably wasn’t what he was asking. Plus, I would do my best to avoid incarceration by running away from home and deleting my Instagram account so I wouldn’t accidentally give away identifying details that I was hiding in Dalworthington Gardens, Texas.

“I mean, if every single thing in your life fell apart, where would you go? Most people could just go back to their parents’ home and start over. Take some time to recuperate. But you don’t really have that.”

“Yeah, I don’t really have a home to go back to. I couldn’t just act like someone’s child for a while.” I understood the question. I did not understand the gravity. I felt blank as I said it.

I thought about this exchange as I unballed dirty socks several days later.

My childhood family, while broken, has given me a mother that loves and mostly accepts me, even if she can’t take care of me anymore. When Harv adopted Cal several years ago, I realized that where we start is our biology and the road we travel is our biography.

A happy family now is enough. This my biography. I don’t need refuge anywhere because I am a grown-up and I am a mother. Mothers don’t get to be children too. 

I…really, really wish my childhood belongings weren’t locked away in a storage unit. I wish I could go back home again. 

When I let the full size of that truth unfurl inside, it filled my chest and neck and cheeks and came out of my eyes and nose and mouth. I just sat down on the floor in front of the washing machine and let myself cry about this thing that I didn’t even know I wanted, but then felt undone after realizing it would never be mine.

It bit into me so hard. The grief I had carefully sealed shut for twenty years tumbled out, and it was messy. For-fucking-reals messy.

I’ve been spending a lot of time inside Grief- eating meals by myself, making my bed on its hard floor, playing a little (shit, fine, a LOT) of Candy Crush. I’m allowing myself not to be happy for just a little bit. And I’m also giving myself a free pass not to feel guilty about it.

I know that grieving will not fix any of my broken past, but it will allow me to appreciate the family I have now…my clique. My ride or dies. My heart.

Ain’t nobody fresher than my muthafuckin clique. :)
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For updates on my Quest to be the Candy Crush Champion of the Whole Entire World and some other stuff that’s not as important, “like” the Flourish in Progress Facebook page. Also, I’m on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress). I don’t post pictures of me crying in front of the laundry machine or anything. I SWEAR TO GOD.

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