By all legal definitions of the word, I am an adult, in America, I have been for almost 9 years. And yet it has only been in the past couple months that I’ve actually felt like an adult.
I’m in a stable, long term relationship with an incredible girl who I adore, who adores me, who wants to share her life with me.
We share a home, not just an apartment, but a place that feels like a home, where I can’t wait to go every day after work.
Speaking of work, I have a steady, full time job, that I don’t loathe. It’s not perfect, but it pays the bills, and it’s the longest I’ve had a full time job. So because I’ve been employed, I’ve been able to pay my own bills on my own, and have a little extra spending cash. I’ve been saving up for a fairly big purchase of the shiny variety.
Yes, we’ve gotten into a routine, we go to work, we come home, she cooks us dinner, sometimes she goes to class, sometimes we just spend time together.
We go to parties. We go to events. We have people over. We go on dates. Our lives are fairly simple. But I haven’t been happier or more fulfilled in my entire life.
Even when I’m doing laundry, or the dishes, or cleaning the apartment, I still feel that warmth that comes from incredible happiness and contentedness.
We had 12 people over for Thanksgiving recently. Part of our extended family of choice. I told Amanda that even though it was stressful getting everything ready and cleaning up afterwards, I had that full fridge feeling with everyone over. That feeling of it’s twelve below outside, it’s blowing snow, and you have a full fridge and nowhere you need to go except curl up with a blanket and your significant other.
It’s an incredible feeling.
Apparently, I’m growing up. I don’t feel sad about that, because I have an incredible better half who I want to spend the rest of my life making happy.