It could be said that men do not grow up, we merely grow old. I am in my forties, and I don’t know if I can truly say I have grown up! That is not to say I haven’t matured (much like a fine wine, or perhaps, more realistically, cheese) as I have gotten older, but there is definitely a playful streak in me. I mean come on, you need only look at at the meerkat pictures now liberally dashed across this site to get that impression.
I know people who take stuff far too seriously, and these highly-strung individuals must surely struggle to find joy in life? You know the type – think ‘Karens’ – that want to suck the fun out of everything. Wrong kind of sucking! (snicker)
Life is for living. It’s for experiencing the wonders of the world, and doing so alongside people we love. There’s no point in getting caught up in drama, nor is there any benefit to being ultra-serious all the time. That is not to say I cannot be serious, because when the circumstances require it, I absolutely can be, but if I can have a laugh with my loved ones, is that not better than anything else?
With all of that said, let’s stop digressing, and answer the prompt. When did I first feel I was a grown up? I can’t really pin that down. At some point, having had a child of my own, and going about fatherly duties, along with the daily grind of going to work, I came to realise I had a den of my own, and I feel a responsibility to make sure my wife and daughter are secure and safe. That certainly makes me feel grown up. The sight of silver strands in my hair has reminded me I am rapidly becoming a greymuzzle now. There’s no escaping that I have grown older, but I’ll hopefully always resist growing up!