I don't understand adults. I didn't understand them as a child and I understand them less now. I sat in a room full of adults tonight at a family Christmas Eve dinner and felt completely out of place. I just can't relate to these people with full-time jobs and mortgage payments and lives so busy that they have little to discuss but how busy they are.
Strangely, I have always longed to be one of them, thinking that that would finally mean I'm "grown up". But I don't think I'll ever be grown up. And I'm not sure I want to be. If I ever find myself living a life where I can't stop everything in the middle of the week and sit at a cafe with a tea and a good book, please shoot me. No, really. If I can't stop and savor a few hours of people-watching and journal writing (or spontaneous lovemaking for that matter), I think my life is headed in a direction that I don't want to go. So, put me out of my misery then and there because really, it's no longer my life. I've fought long and hard to carve out a life that is mine and I don't ever again want to find that I'm being shuffled along for the ride.
I don't know. Maybe I suffer from some form of a Peter Pan complex. Maybe I want to be a child forever. No, that's not it. I can behave like an adult well enough. It's just that I don't ever want to lose touch with that child within me that lives in the eternal moment of now. I want to be easily distracted by butterflies and passing clouds. I want forever to be the girl who can get lost in daydreams and be found skipping down the street. I want forever to be the one "adult" in the crowd who young kids look at and think, "She's one of us." Sure, it may mean being awkward and silly and different for the rest of my life, but I think I'm okay with that.
Finally. I'm okay with that.