As I grow older (and taller), I learn. I learn new things from books, teachers, my friends. I learn new things about being book smart and street smart.
I also learn about growing up, about being older. I’ve learned that while I’ve wanted to grow up for a long time, it isn’t a very normal process. It isn’t like school where you know how you are doing and what grades you are getting. It isn’t like reading a book and knowing just how many pages you have left. It’s about much more than that, much more than I would’ve guessed.
It’s about everything; people, issues, places, ideas, the unseen. It is about questioning your beliefs, everything you’ve ever known.
It’s about looking at your past, what has shaped you and decide what you think about it all. It is about seeing other people and their circumstances and finding something similar to your own because there is always something. It is about realizing that choices aren’t just random, the past plays into them. Current circumstances play into them.
Growing up is so much more than I was expecting. It is hard. It takes time and thought, good and bad choices. Maybe a few choices that are in that grey area.
And yet, as I write this, trying to put the idea of growing up and getting older into palpable form, I know I am missing things. I know there is always more to learn, always some more growing to do (although I’d rather it be in mentality and not height at this point).
I suppose that is the biggest lesson of all: I may have started the process, but there isn’t necessarily an end.