I'm not sure if someone lied.
Or maybe I just misunderstood.
But either way I came out of childhood with this incredible idea of adulthood and maturity. I thought that adulthood was a place where choices were abundant, where the keys to my autonomy would be perpetually in my pocket and always in reach, I thought that adulthood would be fun.
Adulthood is hard.
I discovered that pretty much the first day I had to get out of bed and go to a job to pay my own bills. My parents having got me through university suddenly became very parsimonious about getting me through any of the rest of my life. They expected me to make it on my own. Right. I'll show them! And I did, but it was hard, because even though I loved my work, it was still work. Even though I loved mornings, getting up and rushing out the door wasn't part of how I had seen 'mornings.'
So, I then pushed this image of freedom and choices into the future. Surely the time would come!! I imagined being in my sixties, living my life at a leisurely pace, having control over my destiny.
Living and loving and working and all the rest - is hard.
I was up at some ungodly hour this morning, on the bus by 6:00 in the morning. I arrived at work, turned on the lights and sat down at a desk with a mound of papers that need to be dealt with, with a list of emails that had come in since I cleared them LAST NIGHT BEFORE I WENT TO BED. And of course there's the special project or two that I had happily volunteered to do ... I forget that deadlines far away become 'due tomorrow' really quickly.
I've decided to give up on the idea that life will ever be simply simple, peacefully peaceful and restfully restful. I think, primarily, because ....
even though it's hard
and even though it's overwhelming
and even though it's complicated and difficult.
It's also a little bit fun.