growing up with holly

Tomorrow my little brother (in-law) is having twin baby girls. My other little brother Joel is applying to college. My little sister Amber just leveraged her way back into her old job with a pay increase. It’s amazing just how “adult” we are becoming. I remember my aunts being so polished and grown-up when I was a child, and now I am an aunt.

When looking for a job, I asked about health insurance and projected longevity instead of “when can I start?” Becoming friends with someone is no longer just getting off work at the same time. Spending money isn’t calling US Bank and checking my balance, then spending just $1 less than that. Taking a vacation isn’t an automatic plan for Spring break, Christmas break, and summer — now I save my PTO days all year in anticipation of the one week I’ll take off in October.

When someone declines a night out, I no longer persist. Hell, I don’t party unless I have a day to recover. I’m in bed before 11, and on the rare nights that I’m not, I double up on my coffee the following morning. I now own thirty pairs of work slacks instead of fifty things I could wear to the pool. If there is a new way to smoke pot, I don’t know about it (unless, of course, they show it on “Weeds”).

I guess I am finally an adult. It’s really not that bad: I find much of it suits me. I realize that I have changed a lot in the past five years. Once you learn, you often lose that original curiosity. I’ve traded in karaoke Thursdays for Netflix nights. I’ve seen all the “Sex and the City” episodes, and now curl up with “the New Yorker” instead. I have traded a semi-active dating life for a man who won’t leave me once he sees my nude-colored bra.

Back in college, I thought I was coming into my own. Now I realized I have finally done so. Who I am is a bit of a homebody who loves a few close friends, a couple good books, and some trashy reality tv. I love to eat foods laden in calories and then burn them off with a long run. I can’t dance. I am not musical (and wasted seven years of piano lessons). If I cooked, you can guarantee the first instruction was “boil water.” I’ve found the best friend and companion that I had hoped for and I married him. I no longer picture myself as someone other than who I am.

I no longer want to rebel and pull away from my family: now I look forward to spending time with them. I still do, however, quickly turn down the next aisle when I see an acquaintance I don’t want to make small talk with. I still sing out loud in my car when a college hit comes on (now it’s on a “Flashback Friday”). I still haven’t become open-minded enough to order an entree at China Road. Watching people grow and mature, you see pieces they picked and pieces they’ve dropped.

When I left for college, my mom told me, “they don’t know you, this is your chance to be someone different.” I tried that: it wasn’t me. Now I’m much the same as I was at age 12: reading books, getting pissed off when I lose a game, scribbling down my thoughts to remember later. Only now I’ve traded Nancy Drew for Augusten Burroughs. I’ve traded “FlipX” on the trampoline (you don’t know that game: it’s a Pelesky creation) for “Loaded Questions” with the in-laws. I’ve traded my pink spiral diary for blogging.

I was always known as a “late bloomer” (god, how I hate that term), but here I am: finally bloomed.

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