The other day, I watched my friend head to his job at a major Boston financial firm, wearing a suit and bowtie (It was “Bowtie Monday,” obviously). As he walked away in his monkey suit, I couldn’t help but think he looked a little like a kid in his dad’s suit, or a girl plodding around in her mother’s high heels.
We like to think that we’re all grown up now, no longer teenagers (unless you’re me), living on our own, working full-time, managing our own finances–even doing our own taxes. We cook and clean and separate lights from darks. Some people even think they’re old enough to get married.
But the reality of the world is I’m just as young as my (real) ID says I am. I’m reliant on my parents for emotional support and financial support, I’m listed as a dependant on their taxes, and I have no idea how to work insurance.
I’m a child, yes, but I’ve realized lately that age doesn’t equate to maturity. Two people whom I used to confide in, two people I loved, have hurt me in the past couple of months. Continue reading