Things that make me feel like an adult

Not necessarily inspired by turning 30, I present the first of a list of Things That Make Me Feel Like an Adult...

1. Dry cleaning.

It's not as if I've just begun dry cleaning some of my more delicate garments; I've been doing it for years. I remember the first time so clearly that I took my things around the corner from my Manhattan apartment to be washed and pressed...I felt awkward and humbled around all the steam and Korean women. I was sure someone would spot me as an impostor, and expel me from the place. And somehow that feeling has not faded over time. I still feel vaguely awkward in a dry cleaner--and like I'm performing the act of some much older woman. Like I'm playing house--but you know, the really boring part of playing house.

2. Buying stamps.

I don't know why--but for some reason I feel like my mom should pay for my stamps. There is absolutely no logic to this. She's raised me, fed me, sent me to school. Why, oh, why should she pay for my stamps? Well, she shouldn't; I know. And perhaps it's because growing up I learned that stamps came from the first drawer of Mom's teek desk and not from the Post Office, that's lead me to this ludicrous notion today. In the few years post college it bothered me so much to pay for stamps (I'm an old fashioned girl in the sense that I still like to send letters) that I would put "Roll of 100 stamps" on my Christmas list just to avoid purchasing them myself. I've since given that up. Which is no help--since sending even the simplest piece of mail here starts at $1 USD. So expensive! As if they don't want you to have penpals here.

3. Traveling alone in the airport.

The airport used to hold this sense of excitement for me as a child. Holly and I were shipped off quite young, on our own, on planes heading West to Arizona for visits with our grandparents over spring break. I loved it. The airport was just teeming with activity, the hello-goodbye stories, the tiny, single-wrapped foods, and the promise of the best views on the planet. Since moving away from home there's been a sharp swell in my visits to airports; I'm suffering from a bit of airport fatigue. Now I find terminals congested and annoying. I don't like being sandwiched into a tiny Tylenol-shaped metal bin, forced to keep myself occupied with whatever I've stored in my carry-on. Now I just want to get where I'm going. I'm not interested in the flight. (Oh boy, I'm just seeing this as a sad metaphor for my adult perspective on life--uh oh.)

But back to the point--since stepping from college, and into the world of "adult life" I have very rarely flown with another person. In fact, I can probably count on one hand the times I have flown accompanied in the last 7 years. There's no one to watch your bag while you go the bathroom. No one with whom to share the quintessential $2 gossip rag purchased before flight. Security is more serious. The food stinks. And all this is suffered alone. It makes me feel older--'cause who would ask a kid to do such things?

4. Buying health insurance.

Oy! This one probably takes the cake. Now, I've had insurance before--a plan not in tandem with either of my parents' companies' HMOs. But for many years, thanks to our kind country's persistence to not help those can ill afford the most basic health care in our country, I have opted to go un-insured. I know, it's dumb. But I was young, healthy, and poor. I researched a myriad of options. I even obtained some temporary insurance from the state of NY after a lengthy struggle with a local provider, which ended in me enlisting the help of my state senators to find a resolution. But when that plan petered out there seemed little other alternative than to just abandon the idea of health insurance altogether. I luckily made it out unscathed.

I probably would have kept on in this way for years, but had the fortune to get insurance through my fellowship. And even though that is done, it is far easier and affordable to get insured while abroad. So I found myself researching plans a few months back. I knew that the rate would go up once I turned 30--so was determined to sign up before that day struck. It felt so uniquely adult to make a decision based on the foresight of potential danger, and the fear of that danger (as in, danger in getting sick, getting hit by a car, getting partially eaten by pirrahnas). It was a strangely easy process. You call. You hand over some information about yourself. You give them your credit card. And it's done!

I hung up stunned. There I was, on the cusp of a new decade, insured, actually insured. I'd decided to take care of myself. That felt good. I felt happy. I mean, have you seen those people in Health Insurance ads--they look REALLY happy. They look like really happy ADULTS. Like they know, they know deep down inside if they wanted to, if they really wanted to--they could just hurl themselves off of a cliff--and a nice, warm partially-funded hospital bed would be waiting for them on the other side.

So what did I do in my new-found adult state...? I called my mom.