How to Locate, Capture, and Tame Your Grown-Up

Grown-Up: 1. (adj.) having reached the age at which one is expected to walk, talk, and behave as an adult would, i.e. in a mature and respectable fashion and with absolutely no silliness allowed (oftentimes regarded as a mythical state of being, perhaps originally imagined by children but institutionalized by The Man in order to avoid chaos; regarded as unrealistic by the standards of most people traditionally perceived as grown-up). 2. (n.) an adult. 3. (n.) an older person who cares for a younger person as a parent would, who unconditionally loves said younger person despite not being related by blood or by marriage; see: mentor (and then forget it because mentor isn’t really a very good synonym for One’s Grown-Up at all).

The first thing you must understand when commencing a journey to find the holy grail of Grown-Ups is that it is impossible to purposefully locate A Grown-Up to become Your Grown-Up. Second, Your Grown-Up is naturally elusive in that he or she is in the process of becoming Your Grown-Up long before either of you is able to recognize him or her as such. Thus, it is actually impossible for one to capture one’s Grown-Up. Finally, Your Grown-Up is most recognizable flourishing in his or her natural habitat, which is wherever you are when you are most in need of A Grown-Up. During any other time, they tend to lie dormant in a haze of minimal recognition. In essence, this means that it is not necessary for one to tame or train One’s Grown-Up, as the skills associated with being One’s Grown-Up are born naturally when this person becomes Your Grown-Up.

~*~

I’m missing My Grown-Up today. I missed him yesterday, too. I was out for a walk, late at night, trying to give my brain a rest when I realized how dark it felt, and how slowly all of the cars seemed to be driving by, and how I actually know very few people in this town. I got stuck thinking about how safe it feels when My Grown-Up in the same city as I am and slowly every headlight became a flashlight seeking me out in hopes of cutting me up. It felt dangerous, and not in the adventure sort of way. It was the helpless sort of way, but I kept walking.

Time passed, the sky seemed to darken steadily more and more as I approached my destination: a literal-hole-in-the-ground called the Shakespeare Pit. I stayed there for a while, alone but not unhappy. I thought about sleeping in this pit in March and having my first drink in it on Thursday. I thought about crying in it in January when I found the hole in my heart that made me believe I was a Blank Person. (This was the night I realized that the Shakespeare Pit is actually only as good as your memories make it.)

I have an e-mail saved in my inbox titled “Re: This e-mail does not have a subject.” It’s a painful e-mail with painful things attached to it, but I don’t keep it to remind me of the painful things in life. I keep it so I can look back at where My Grown-Up wrote me the words: “And don’t back down.” I read it over again from time to time to remember how I didn’t back down and how I might have backed down if he hadn’t told me it was okay not to.

On nights like yesterday, though, when I’m sitting alone in the dark in the Shakespeare pit, I don’t remember the words exactly as he wrote them. I remember them sounding more like, “And keep moving forward” or “And everything is going to be alright” or “And keep fighting.” The words don’t match up but the sentiment seems to well enough, and I can take his advice again, though the circumstances have changed almost entirely. “Don’t back down,” I tell myself as I slink back home in the shadows, imagining that I’m the dangerous one, that I’m the strong one, the powerful one. Don’t back down.

I know that the things My Grown-Up has given me will transcend distance and that he may not be physically near me but that doesn’t mean he’s not still keeping me safe, the way that words have that special ability to keep us safe. This isn’t dependence, I don't think. This is the way One’s Grown-Up becomes recognizable, flourishing in its natural habitat.