...I became an adult... I think...

A few weeks ago I moved into my new apartment. My new home for the next year at least - possibly even longer. My first 'real' apartment, so to speak. See, when my sister finished high school and went to the university, our parents bought an apartment in Tartu. They figured that since both of their children would be studying there, it would be easier to just buy a place where we could live while we were studying. Dorm life didn't sound too appealing for either me or my sister and renting a place would, in the long run, cost more than buying an apartment. So, when I left my childhood home I didn't really feel like I'd grown up much because I was still living in a place that my parents were paying for. Fast forward several years: I'd just gotten my physiotherapy degree and moved away from Tartu, to a little town called Haapsalu. I needed a place to stay and a colleague of mine offered up her own place - she was moving out in August. I jumped at the offer and before I knew it, I had my first 'real' apartment.

Yes, I realize the place doesn't really belong to me but it's the first time I have to pay for it all on my own. Moving in was... great, in a way. I felt like I finally had a chance to personalize the whole place, make it suit my needs and make it look just the way I wanted. I was downright giddy at the idea. And on the other hand... it was pretty excruciating. My apartment is on the 4th floor... and I had a lot of stuff. Let me tell you: it is not much fun running up and down the stairs about eight times, carrying boxes and suitcases and everything else I'd decided to bring from Tartu. The last batch of stuff was the worst: I was already tired and then had to carry two dumbbells in one hand (total weight around 9 kg) and a gigantic squash in the other (thanks, grandma!). I must have looked ridiculous.

After getting all of my stuff to the apartment, I spent the better part of the evening just unpacking and making everything look neat. Took me a while but by the next day everything was set up the way I wanted. As I was drinking coffee on my balcony and looking down onto the playground, it hit me: 'Oh, shit! I think I might be an adult!'

I remember watching TV shows as a teenager where the main character was a strong independent single woman, living in a one bedroom apartment - she would drink wine while cooking, sing along to her favorite songs and had to handle everything on her own. I was that woman now. Dancing in my livingroom like an idiot just because I could, singing while cooking dinner and throwing my purse onto the couch as soon as I got home. Just because there was no one around to stop me. I didn't have to worry about anyone walking in and giving me a disapproving stare while I was trying (and failing) to do yoga in front of the TV. I could leave my stuff lying around without fearing it would get in the way of someone. I was free... and it was a bit terrifying.

I know a lot of people reading this are going to be like: 'Wait... aren't you like 26? It took you this long to become an adult?!' Yes. Yes it did. I took my sweet time because at one point in my adolescent life I realized that this is as good as it gets - once you become a real adult, life just gets way more complicated. There are bills and loans and rent and you can't run to your parents whenever something doesn't go as planned. I mean, you could but it would just be a childish thing to do. As an adult you kind of have to take care of yourself - otherwise you're just a pseudo-adult. Almost there but not quite.

After realizing that this was it - I was finally becoming an independent adult - I was kind of... confused. I mean, I knew that technically I was an adult. I met the requirements: I was old enough, had a steady job, an apartment, bills to pay... but I didn't really feel like an adult. I still felt like a kid, standing on the shoulders of another kid, wearing an adult-sized jacket and trying to pretend to be a grownup to get into the movies. I honestly don't have a clue how to be an adult. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. Am I doing something wrong? How would I know? How do the other adults manage to make adulting seem so simple? Do they know something I don't? How are they so... confident and at ease with everything? I still feel like I have no idea what's going on. And then there are teenagers who look at me and think I've got my shit together. I don't! I honestly don't! My shit is scattered all over the place and I don't even know where most of it is. Are other adults as clueless as I am? Or did I just miss some sort of weird adulting-course that everybody but me is aware of? 

I am financially independent, working a full-time job, I try to take responsibility for my actions, I don't look to my parents to solve my problems - yeah, seems like it's all there. But why don't I feel like an adult? Is it something that comes in time? Or does being an adult mean that you're just a kid in disguise? The more I think about it, the more I lean toward option two. 

Still, for a moment there I was aware of the fact that I'd grown up. I wasn't a kid anymore. I am... a strong independent woman who don't need no man. And fueled by that thought I tidied up the apartment and took a shower. As I was stepping out I noticed that a small puddle of soapy water had formed on the floor in front of the washing machine. Ah, another problem for Adult-Grete to solve! Taking the shower head I pointed it toward the puddle to 'clean it up'... and successfully ended up flooding my entire bathroom... Nice going, Adult-Grete! Real sound thinking there! 

Adulting is hard よ.