The Process of Growing Up

The process of growing up is gradual but relentless; I failed to see it happening until it was too late. I realized this as I was driving to work in my sensible four-door sedan. I was coasting just under the speed limit, congratulating myself on getting good gas mileage, listening to National Public Radio, and drinking an iced mocha coffee which I had just purchased at Starbucks for the bargain price of $4.77.

I remembered the day that I traded in my lipstick red 1986 Chevrolet Camaro IROC and bought a brand new Hyundai Elantra. I don't know when I stopped caring about fat Goodyear Radial T/A tires, shiny aluminum rims, and leaky t-tops.

I do know that one day, with winter fast approaching, I suddenly realized that I should be driving a car for adults, a car that got more than 12 miles to the gallon, a car with front wheel drive that wouldn't get stuck in 2 inches of snow.

I have held the same job for several years. I have never called in sick, not even to celebrate unseasonably good weather. It seems like only yesterday that I concerned myself with parties, boys, and gum. Now, I worry about paying my taxes, balancing my checkbook, and my investments in the stock market.

I fondly remember a time when my closet was filled with stylish, but not necessarily comfortable, clothing. My favorite Calvin Klein jeans were too tight. I had to lie flat on my back to close the zipper. I was a size 7 at the time, but I think those jeans were a size 5. My favorite skirt was purple, spandex, and far too short to be practical. Sitting or bending was an adventure carefully undertaken.

I also owned stylish, but incredibly painful, shoes. Since then, I have thrown away all uncomfortable clothing and footwear, even the white stiletto-heeled boots that I wore to a Bon Jovi concert in 1986.

Now, I choose my outfits according to comfort and practicality, not fashion and brand name logos. I prefer baggy faded blue jeans, old sweaters, flannel shirts with missing buttons, T-shirts imprinted with the names of bands that have long since lost their popularity, and sneakers bought on sale.

My taste in music has changed. I don't remember when I stopped listening to Metallica, or when I started listening to Frank Sinatra. I remember listening to vinyl albums of KISS, Poison, Grim Reaper, and Ozzy Osbourne in my bedroom. Now I listen to compact discs of The Beatles, Elvis, and Tom Jones in my car. In fact, I saw Tom Jones in concert three times in four years.

When I was 18, I never imagined that I would prefer the Fox News Channel to MTV, or the "O'Reilly Factor" to the "Real World."

When I was younger, the days stretched out endlessly like a North Carolina cornfield, and flowed seamlessly like the Atlantic Ocean. Today, time rushes faster than Maine's whitewater rapids on the Kennebec River. It moves faster than the cars I used to drive.

I find myself doing things that are good for me, like having oatmeal, a banana, and milk for breakfast when I would rather eat M&Ms with Coca-Cola. I don't exercise as much as I should, but at least I have the decency to feel guilty about it.

I realize the virtue of going to bed early, going to work on time, keeping promises, keeping secrets, finishing dinner before dessert, finishing homework assignments before turning on the television, being courteous, recycling whenever possible, and resisting the temptation of raw cookie dough.

I know that these changes did not occur overnight; it just feels that way.