#95: Responsibility is not the enemy of possibility.
#95: Responsibility is not the enemy of possibility.
The resignation of adulthood and why it’s bullshit.
The Luminist is a reader-supported publication that illuminates the pain, the pleasure, and the paradox on the path to technicolor living. Subscribe below to receive posts about how loss teaches us to get the most out of life (along with silly gifs) in your inbox every Saturday.
We loaded the last of Connor’s stuff into the bed of his shiny black Chevy pickup truck.
Suitcases, black garbage bags, a gargantuan gaming monitor, five dozen sugar cookies grandma made to share with friends. Then we settled in for his last night at home before his senior year in college.
Sitting on the striped living-room rug, leaning our backs against the sectional, we scarfed down burritos and talked about Connor’s experiences over the last year. Exploring every inch of New Zealand. Dipping his toe in Alaska. Forming friendships with the “full grown” adults in his summer frisbee league.
A few Connor-isms:
“Everyone could benefit from sleeping on the floor for a couple of nights, it makes you thankful for what you have.”
“I liked Alaska but there are too many animals there. I prefer New Zealand where there are no predators. Well, no predators of humans.”
”When a conversation goes sideways, I always keep my mouth shut and try to figure out what the other person is thinking.”
While I clenched my teeth to prevent well-intentioned but unhelpful mom comments, (“Maybe asking them to articulate what their feeling would be a better idea??”) I realized I was watching a metamorphosis in process — Connor inventing himself.
Gathering inputs. Deciding preferences. Pivoting to more of what he likes, less of what he doesn’t. Trying to figure out the eternal mystery of other humans. Realizing there is mystery to explore within himself.
It’s easy to look at where Connor is in life and sigh with nostalgia.
“I remember when life was so full of possibility.”
But… we (the full-grown adults) haven’t lost any of the possibility. In fact, our bank accounts attest to the fact that we’ve gained it. However, we have laid tracks of certainty — career paths, mortgages, car leases — and then forgotten that those tracks are still malleable, even if it requires some pumping of the bellows to soften their straight lines.
Watching Connor test life and himself is reminding me that we could all benefit from a little more assessment. A little more pause and reflect. A little more conscious choice of direction. A little less autopilot.
Because while 21-year-olds like Connor are inventing themselves, 55-year-olds are re-inventing ourselves. ALL THE TIME.
We’re waking up every morning and deciding what to do and how to do it. We arguably have more options than a college senior whose current opportunities are summarized succinctly by the word “internship”.
But it seems like the 21-year-old has more options because, quite simply, they haven’t made a single life decision yet. They haven’t chosen which direction to lay their track. And they haven’t let that decision turn from a goal into a prison.
My 2024 was not too shabby in terms of adventure either.
It certainly paralleled Connor’s in the sheer number of new experiences. But I’m realizing that I’ve not let those new experiences shape me and my future like Connor has.
And really, I’m not that different from Connor. Sure, I have a mortgage and two kids in college, but he has $300 in his checking account (better find a campus job, kid!). But I have just as many hours in the day, and just as much choice.
So looking out at my life, which goals, preferences, methods, identities still feel like a good fit? And which are ready for an upgrade?
I don’t need to ignore the reality of my responsibilities to do this. Ask any creative, and they’ll tell you that limitations foster creativity. A blank word document is the bane of my existence. A single directive from my editor Leona — “explore this concept from your voice note” — and the words rush forth.
There are plenty of things about my life I cannot change. I won’t get my mid-twenties fitness back. I need to budget for retirement. I can’t make it through the day without a nap. But everything else, I’m throwing on the chopping block.
What if I traded in my monochrome outfits for monk robes and meditate eight hours a day? Would a dog make me happier? Or perhaps a month-long writing retreat in the Dolomites? Or maybe I want to try a new creative hobby. Is it time I tried my hand at stand-up comedy? Do I still want to live in the treehouse? In Virginia? In the US of A?
Most of these examples are silly, but throwing them out there feels so freeing! I’m just far enough through life that I know how precious it is and how fast it goes. Instead of resigning myself to anything, I’m going to see just how many tracks I can jump.
We expect young adults to grow and change. Can we do ourselves a favor, and expect the same from “old dogs” like us?
To new tricks,
To new tricks indeed! 🙌
A great piece, thank you! I find the possibilities of this stage of life both exciting and disorienting- hope to see you at the beach (where it’s easier to get “oriented”) sometime soon.