When we're kids we dream of being grown-ups. We play pretend dress up in our mom's heels and jewelry and we pretend to play house, things of that nature (although, in retrospect, I can't imagine why I liked playing house. Now that I have an apartment, I hate cooking and cleaning!). When we're little, adulthood is this coveted and mysterious world that we can't wait to learn the secrets of.
As a kid, there was nothing that would make me happier than to hear the words, "you're like a little adult!" or "you're only eight? I thought you were at least ten!" etc, etc. I would literally squirm with delight.
Now, I'm in twenties (barely, but still). I'm technically an adult, not only by my age, but also by the responsibilities that I've assumed. I'm financially independent from my parents, I live on my own (with roommates) in a decent sized city, and I have a job. Yet . . . if someone called me an adult now, I would squirm uncomfortably.
A few days ago, someone called me a woman. The person who said this meant it as a compliment and the statement was attached to a really sweet sentiment, but hearing "you're an incredible and amazing woman" made me squirm a little. Woman. Not girl. WOMAN.
When I hear the word "woman" two images pop into my head. The first is an image of the stereotypical executive business woman: suit, heels, stern face, hair pulled back in a bun, and generally miserable.The second is the iconic image of Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's. These are what I think of when I hear the word "woman". Not someone walking around a college campus in teeshirt and jeans. Basically, not me.
Now that I've entered that realm of where people identify me as a woman (apparently) I don't know I'm ready. I don't know I'm ready to be--or even want to at this point--a woman yet. It's the label I guess that freaks me out. It's just weird to have that realization you know?
Well, maybe soon I'll learn some of those secrets of this world we all coveted as kids, until then though, who knows?
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