This weekend Jeff and I packed my life in San Francisco into boxes and bags and traveled to San Diego, where the streets are lined with palm trees, sunshine and our future together. Until permanent housing in found, we squeeze into his current room, rearranging furniture and flooding the closet with my clothing, pillows and blankets as we merged both of our lives into one. We are now officially "living in sin," as many would define it (since we don't sport wedding rings or share one surname) yet the truth of the matter is, there can't be anything sinful about it: a promise, regardless if it lacks a band a diamond, is a promise.
After we finished unloading and organizing, we collapsed and watched the end of the National Championship BCS bowl. It was the end of a very "grown up" day. After work, we'd spent our evenings doing laundry, cleaning and preparing dinner. Despite the simplicity of the evening, it is everything I hoped for since I was a little girl for my "adult life". Though I don't think I can remember a happier day, I suddenly worried that now we were officially adults.
I glanced over at Jeff and asked, "does this mean we have to be grown up?"
He smirked and answered, "we are who we are: one day we will be grown up, and the next, just kids."
Growing up, no matter how "grown up" your life becomes, never entirely takes over- at least, for me, not yet. Even Peter and Wendy, committed to staying children, can't entirely fight the sensation of love and growing up. Growing up doesn't happen systematically, that each ounce of adult added enters, a piece of child exits. It's an internal inflation where the two exist in a enduring symbiotic relationship.
And since I packed up my Barbies, I have been not a girl, not yet a woman. And now, a decade later, I'm still not a girl, not yet a woman.
{not sure I ever expected to be citing Miss Brittney on this site...}
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