I’ve admitted in the past that I wished I’d have cut class more often—okay, at all—in high school. Maybe snuck to one unauthorized New Kids on the Block concert. Sipped blackberry wine cooler at a sleepover.
I should have changed my college major a half dozen times instead of agonizing about doing it once. I should have gone on more road trips. Made more snap decisions, said yes more often. Blown off more obligations.Then maybe today I’d feel more accepting of needing every once-personal decision approved by a committee of four, two members of which can’t even draw an X or check mark to cast an official ballot. Of course, I cherish my family. And most days I don’t mind scheduling my shower for when it’s convenient for everyone. I’m okay with the planning involved to go shop for bras—in my tragic/bizarre post-baby size—without having to shove a double-stroller into a dressing room. But today, I’m irked. To be honest, I’m incredibly sad. Grieving even.It will be a very, very long time before I’ll get another chance to be reckless. And even then, how many years will I get to play slots on a cruise ship before I lose my faculties and have to wait until it’s convenient for someone to give me a sponge bath when I want to be clean?
Alright, maybe it's not quite that bleak. But you get the point. And I'd venture a guess that you've on occasion missed your freedom too. Thought maybe you'd lease a new car you can't afford or ditch a job you really need if you didn't have those little people you helped create silently voting for caution.
It's not really a bad thing, being a responsible adult. It doesn't mean you can't do stuff, just not unilaterally without consulting your prefrontal cortex and/or family.But I'm going to give myself, say, 24 hours to be livid about it anyway. You are welcome to join me if you'd like.
