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Downhill.

In less than a month, I turn 30 years old. I’ve been legally an adult for almost nine years now; however, in my head I will be a real adult once I turn 30. With this pending birthday, I keep wondering how much of a grown-up I actually am. Since I started grad school, I’ve felt conflicted about my degree of adultiness. My brain is definitely getting better, but I’m not so sure about the other aspects of my life.

On one hand, I think I’ve demonstrated significant professional growth and I feel a lot smarter than I did a year ago. On the other hand, when I am not at my internship, I seem incapable of wearing clothes that are not sweatpants, hooded sweatshirts, or flip flops. I haven’t even worn jeans in weeks. I own a ton of dresses and skirts as well as shoes with heels. I ignore those items  and instead walk around looking like a 13 year-old boy.  I still jump the last few steps of staircases. I am not responsible enough to own a house plant, let alone care for a pet. Caffeine is its own food group. The microwave gets more attention than the stove. And please don’t ask me the last time I changed the sheets on my bed.

I have no idea where I stand as an adult. Most of the time when I’m alone in my apartment, I feel like Kevin from Home Alone. I need someone to tell me when to go to bed and remind me to wash my face before I do so. I don’t think turning 30 is as big of a deal to me as it is to most people, but I still consider it an important moment in my life. I may just even put on a pair of jeans to mark the occasion.

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