Yesterday, after various convoluted password shenanigans with the agency through which I'm dong it, I got my Roth IRA set up. This took place at about quarter to nine AM, and I spent the rest of the day in this sort of smug rosy cloud, shadowed only by brief interludes of bewildered disappointment that my Real Adult Badge had yet to descend from heaven, borne by choirs of angels singing praises of my maturity and good sense. Sometime around three o'clock, I decided not only that a cake might suffice but that eventually, I would forgive the universe for seeing fit to have said cake borne by a friend or relative rather than celestial beings joined in a divine harmony of song.
And that's about when it hit me. No, not the cake, Einstein. The cake was a lie. I mean the epiphany - that maybe, if I found myself waiting for a gold star for adult accomplishments, it ought to come as I sign I hadn't earned it yet, sort of like one of those magical islands that can't be found unless you already know where it is, except that in this case it can't be found unless you're not looking for it.
So far as I can tell, that is the crux of adulthood, or at least one of them. If I knew the plural of "crux," I'd have put that to begin with.
Anyway. Yes. Crux of adulthood. It is this: adulthood is when you don't do things for an external reward, but rather because they need to be done. This phrasing is deliberate - "you need to do them" implies that, say, you only need to put away the dishes if you're the one that washed them and left them out to dry. Nope. If you're in the kitchen and you've got an extra few minutes on your hands, you need to put away those dishes, because the dishes need to be put away. I'd give my left buttock for a chance to go back and inform my nineteen-year-old self of this and then remind him sharply, maybe with a two-by-four over the incredibly hard cranium, that afterwards you don't go and brag to whoever you're living with that you put away the dishes. That was impressive, at nine. At nineteen, not so much.
Same goes for retirement funds. Sure, it's a more grown-up thing than putting away the dishes, but the fact remains that it's nothing extraordinary. It's just a thing that needs doing. This doesn't mean it isn't worth celebrating - it does exhibit foresight, responsibility, and all that good stuff. But it's not the kind of thing for which you get a pat on the back from anyone save yourself.
So, this morning, I made myself a Mexican mocha, and let me tell you, I make goooooooooood Mexican mochas. It's leagues better than any old badge. Badges? You can't drink no stinkin' badges! In the end, it's not that all the little milestones of adulthood and the steps along the way aren't rewarding. It's just that the reward has to come from within, in the sense of satisfaction of responsibilities cared for, the accompanying security of mind, and, occasionally, a delicious drink.
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