{"id":745,"date":"2015-05-31T09:54:06","date_gmt":"2015-05-31T09:54:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/?p=745"},"modified":"2015-05-31T09:54:37","modified_gmt":"2015-05-31T09:54:37","slug":"745","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/745\/","title":{"rendered":"Stepping onto the Bath Rug of Adulthood: Reflections and Concerns of a 30+ Modern-Day Nomad"},"content":{"rendered":"
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 <\/p>\n

By Abbey Andersen<\/p>\n

It all started last month when I bought a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bath rug from the thrift store.<\/p>\n

New in town, on an extreme budget, and in need of a few things for my rental unit, I headed for the back pile of the Santa Cruz Goodwill. Right away I picked out a tasteful lavender bath mat that would sort of match the shower curtain in my bathroom. But then, I saw it: a strangely shaped, bright green thing in the form of the turtle dude with the orange bandana\u2014Michelangelo, for those of you in the know. Still with its original tag! What a find, I thought to myself in irony and nostalgic glee, and took it to the register. The lavender rug went swiftly back into the pile. Now, in my current modern-day California life, I step on Michelangelo\u2019s face every time I get out of the shower. Cowabunga, dude!<\/p>\n

Yet, in spite of this daily joy, I am troubled. Each ninja turtle foot-drying session is a reminder of my whirling uncertainty. As I examine my life as a 30+ grownup, what aspect is more disquieting to me: that I shop at thrift stores for home goods instead of Target or Ikea like any other self-respecting adult, or that I elatedly choose a tacky relic of my childhood, marketed for the bathroom of a 7 year old boy, over the much more discriminating and aesthetically pleasing option? Do I deserve to qualify myself as an \u201cAdult\u201d?<\/p>\n

Let\u2019s investigate.<\/p>\n

I. What is an Adult? Am I one?<\/p>\n

First things first, we will consult the omniscient internet. Wikipedia states that, \u201cBiologically, an adult is a human being or other organism that has reached sexual maturity. In human context, the term \u2018adult\u2019 additionally has meanings associated with social and legal concepts. In contrast to a \u2018minor\u2019, a legal adult is a person who has attained the age of majority and is therefore regarded as independent, self-sufficient, and responsible.\u201d Ok, cool. Sounds like I am an adult\u2014legally and physically speaking, in any case. But let\u2019s read further.<\/p>\n

\u201cHuman adulthood encompasses psychological adult development. Definitions of adulthood are often inconsistent and contradictory; a person may be biologically an adult, and have adult behavior, but still be treated as a child if they are under the legal age of majority. Conversely, one may legally be an adult but possess none of the maturity and responsibility that may define adult character.\u201d Hmm, nothing about ninja turtles here. Seems to me that Wikipedia is saying the concept of Adulthood just sort of depends\u2014a nebulous event.<\/p>\n

What are things that most people associate with being an adult? I\u2019ll throw out some words that come to mind: \u201cstability\u201d, \u201crootedness,\u201d \u201ccareer,\u201d \u201ccomforts,\u201d \u201cretirement planning,\u201d \u201cupward movement,\u201d \u201cfinancial security.\u201d Yikes\u2014in review, these words basically have no representation in my current life. But perhaps I conjured up these associations so far from my world because, after all, this whole essay is intended to examine my troubles fitting into the adult bracket. If these things weren\u2019t dubious in my life, what would I have left to write about?<\/p>\n

For those who don\u2019t know the author, perhaps a belated introduction would be useful. My name is Abbey. I was born in the suburbs of Portland, OR, did well in school, sheltered myself amidst homework, stuffed animals, and neighborhood friends, and never wanted anything to change. I went off to college, at first reluctantly, where I earned an art degree and met some folks who inspired me to travel. Then I got the bug.<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s what happened next: Yellowstone, Pennsylvania, Acadia, Costa Rica, coffee shops, couchsurfing with strangers, front desks, Lake Champlain, ice cream shoppes, Blue Ridge Mountains, magicians, porches, potlucks, plane tickets, palaces, farms, fires, forwarding addresses, ski seasons, Afrikaaners, art shows, nature centers, new friends, near-deaths, butterflies, big backpacks, smaller backpacks, small paychecks, two Boulders, being in love, bison, braiis, breakups, bakeries in the middle of nowhere, hiking shoes, dinner parties, mesas, melancholy, red rocks, rainforests, roommates, Montezuma\u2019s Revenge, helicopters, harmonicas, holiday flings, homemade ukuleles, glaciers, gardens, gazpacho, vineyards, loneliness, reunions, road trips, mulberry sodas, school houses, kitchen school buses, sabbaticals, suitcases, tiny towns, unknowns, the cycle of lost and found, stories and stories and stories, ninja turtle bath mats.<\/p>\n

Phew! It\u2019s been a helluva decade\u2014one with no retirement plan in sight. Do all these valuable experiences, this \u201cworldliness,\u201d make me an adult? On the contrary, some might consider such a vagabonding lifestyle a sure sign of youth. Most of us go through that awkward shift in the college and post-college years, where everyone still call us \u201ckids\u201d and we still eat Captain Crunch on Saturday mornings before we go to work at our non-career jobs to pay off loans and start making our way up the ladder. For me, a serial late-bloomer, this shift seems to still be in suspension. I haven\u2019t made it to the other side. Sure, my tastes have evolved somewhat\u2014these days my breakfast bowl is more<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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likely to be filled with locally made yogurt and fresh-picked fruit than Captain Crunch. Now I do things like own a car and pay for insurance and find history to be an interesting subject. On the other hand, I just bought a ninja turtle bath mat.<\/p>\n

The truth is, I am skeptical about being considered adult-like. I suppose my problem with it, and the reason I hold on to these vestiges of childhood, is that being an adult seems rather grim. It seems to put freedom and silliness at risk. If I start decorating my bathroom in matching colors, shopping for Fiesta dishware at Macy\u2019s, and dressing myself in pant suits, then what\u2019s next? In no time I\u2019ll be tied up in a mortgage, booking Carnival cruises for my measly two-weeks of vacation per year, and throwing Tupperware parties on the weekends. I will enter the world of brand names, and never look back. Eventually I\u2019ll stop laughing as much, stop riding my bike around, curtail the art making and the adventuring and discovering. My precious ukulele will turn into a dust-collector in the corner. Wait, not quite\u2014there will be no dust because I\u2019ll dutifully clean my house every Sunday afternoon. It will be written in my planner.<\/p>\n

Ok, so this may be a gross exaggeration of what it is like to concede to Adulthood. Anyone who knows me knows that I am unlikely to turn into a white-picket-fencer. And anyone who is a genuine adult and\/or a white- picket-fencer, happily or not, would probably take offense to such negative connotations. The fact is, we all grow up. I already have in many ways, and I\u2019m still Abbey at my core. But the question is\u2014how do I embrace the adult- ish things I am starting to desire, while not giving up the adventure and whimsy that bring me such joy?<\/p>\n

II. Why in Tarnation Do I Even Want to Be an Adult?<\/p>\n

Here I am fresh on the scene in California, barely coming off a long \u201csabbatical\u201d from paying work, just like so many other winter\/spring seasons in my past, and waltzing around buying $2 novelty bath rugs for my temporary living quarters. On one hand, this method of living has allowed me to do incredible things I would not ordinarily have time for, nor encounter the means to while staying in one community year-round, with a full-time job. I have been genuinely happy doing it this way for many years. On the other hand, I know I am capable of more.<\/p>\n

What happened to the straight-A student, Valedictorian Abbey who, after high school, everyone assumed would go on to become some kind of successful professional? As it were, the reformed \u201cDabblin\u2019 Abbey\u201d seems to have taken her simple art degree on the road and abandoned the world of traditional academia and higher education altogether. Then again, who said \u201chigher education\u201d is a thing you get by staying in scholarly institutions, as opposed to interacting to an unrestricted degree with the world? Dabbling, at large.<\/p>\n

As a more specific example of my lifestyle, let me explain how I ended up in Santa Cruz. Last Fall, I began the application procedure for a trip leader position with a travel tour company called Backroads. It was quite a process, and involved several intense interviews, as well as having to teach myself bike mechanics in preparation for the final day-long hiring event I\u2019d been invited to in Berkeley. I spent a month in Alaska with dear friends prior to that, learning about bikes from YouTube and losing sleep with anxiety. This was a bigger challenge than I\u2019d ever attempted in my \u201ccareer,\u201d but it seemed like the position encompassed exactly what I\u2019d been building upon through my years of travels, a way to turn my passions into something more. Finally, with my stomach in knots, I went to the interview in early February. I met lots of people who rode bikes, answered a slew of guest service role-play questions, and smiled until my face hurt. The next afternoon, I had an email in my inbox thanking me for coming, but informing me that I had not been hired.<\/p>\n

Rejection! Pure and simple rejection. I wasn\u2019t good enough. Or more positively, \u201cit wasn\u2019t the right fit.\u201d Ultimately, my attempt to filter all my collected life skills into a real job had failed. I was not born to be a Leader\u2014 not in this sense, anyway. But of course, as always, through failure lies opportunity. Discouragement was one thing I felt, though it was shrouded in relief. There was also the nagging panic\u2014NOW what? I went to stay with a college friend of mine in the mountains near Santa Cruz, welcoming the reprieve of familiar company, and using the visit to develop a new plan.<\/p>\n

Normally my plan consists of scooping up interesting seasonal work over the internet, often in the snap of a finger, and heading off to do that. As a backup, I fill the gap between paid work with stints of work-trade on farms, or I might buy a plane ticket to some other hemisphere. This time, with short funds and a spell of strange luck, I was unable to secure any of those things. After a month staying with my gracious friend, it seemed that the time had come to concede to Santa Cruz. I found a place to sublet for three weeks (which turned into another month after that, then another), stumbled into a bit of volunteer work at a farm next door, began exploring the town on my trusty bicycle Bernadette Blue, and found that\u2014as it turns out\u2014I really quite like this place: lush and colorful vegetation, citrus blossoms, succulents, bike paths, sandy beaches, blue skies, farms everywhere, extremely friendly strangers, and some serious sunshine. Employment opportunities began to emerge, with a local farm-to-table catering company<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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and an offer from the neighbors for summer farm work.
\nAnd so, the cycle begins again. It\u2019s back to dabbling, for me. I tried my hand at lining up something new,<\/p>\n

something bigger, something to build up my skill set. But that didn\u2019t take and now I am back to the old ways. Catering and farm work will be the source of income that supports my exploration of this new place, and maybe\u2014 hopefully\u2014an exploration of my adult potential. Are catering and farm work things that adults do in their professional lives? Maybe if you owned the catering company or the farm. I do not own either. I am merely a hired hand. As much as I fit in and feel value in working around good food and the other people who sustain themselves in such a realm, that \u201chired hand\u201d status still heckles me from the back bleachers of my conscious, throwing rotten tomatoes at my stage of good things. Am I just a pair of hands? Am I just a pair of feet, standing on a ninja turtle bath mat? A turtle, in a half-shell? My inner adult hopes for more.<\/p>\n

III. What Has Prevented Me From Becoming Adult-Like?<\/p>\n

My wardrobe used to consist of ill-fitting pants and t-shirts. I claimed \u201cBurlap Sack\u201d as a style, for a bit, and always told my friends I\u2019d sooner be married in a white sweat suit than have to step into a frilly dress. These days I wear nicer tops and sweaters, and even dresses\u2014but 90% of them are second hand, and have prints of strange flamingos, vintage sailboats, or drawings that I made with Sharpies. Because I am rarely in a spot for longer than 5 or 6 months and because I maintain a minimalist approach in order to stay mobile, my collection of possessions (including my wardrobe) tends to mutate, to ebb and flow. I leave things behind, and when I arrive in a new spot, I utilize what already exists there. Because I don\u2019t own any furniture, I often find myself renting fully furnished places\u2014which often include a set of linens, comforters, dishware, wall d\u00e9cor, etc. Due to this practicality in my life, though convenient, it has never been necessary for me to develop a strong sense of style.<\/p>\n

Style, I am beginning to feel, is an important part of self-identity. And self-identity is an important part of growing up and becoming an adult. With this lack of commitment to a particular style and an inclination to adopt each new setting as my own, I maintain the adaptability to settle in anywhere with ease and comfort, and to be happy wherever I am. I don\u2019t need my own home to feel at home. However, I may also be inhibiting my ability to feel like my own, definitive person. A sense of self comes from within, of course, but I am realizing that the form it takes on the outside is also a valuable piece of identity. Adults are assumed to have some sense of refinement in their style, whether \u201cstyle\u201d describes their wardrobe, house d\u00e9cor, or perhaps simply their presence and mannerisms. And \u201crefinement\u201d is not necessarily a synonym for sophistication in this case, but for assurance and consistency.<\/p>\n

Why might I want to be considered \u201cprofessional\u201d in my style? By and large, the world seems to still recognize me as college-aged. Almost every time I move somewhere new, people ask if I came here \u201cfor school.\u201d As any 30+ gal would be, I\u2019m flattered and delighted that I look young enough to be mistaken as such. Perhaps my glasses are partly to thank, masking the subtle crow\u2019s feet beginning to creep out from the corners of my eyes. The cherubic rosy nature of my cheeks, which plagued me as an adolescent, might be paying off now that I\u2019m 30+, and those feral curls haven\u2019t changed much since I freed them from the ponytail I sported all throughout high school. I look deceptively youthful.<\/p>\n

Yes, there are also the Sharpie dresses. But sometimes I worry that my physical appearance isn\u2019t the full reason strangers assume I am young. After all, my introductions often include a disorganized attempt to explain myself and my reasons why I am where I am (probably just moved to town), where I came from originally (all over, really), what I am doing (likely some short-term, seasonal job I found on the internet), what my profession is (an artist, I guess, though I\u2019m leaning toward farm-to-table things and have done a lot of work in hospitality and spent a good while running a nature center in Vermont, you see?), and what that will lead to next (completely unknown, though I suspect it will all lead to something). Disclaimers, left and right. \u201cGood for you,\u201d they say, \u201cdo it while you\u2019re young.\u201d Joke\u2019s on them, I\u2019m not as young as they think…<\/p>\n

But this isn\u2019t about getting too old, or trying to stay young. And it\u2019s not about fooling the masses or playing a joke\u2014in fact, it\u2019s more about considering how to leave some of the joking behind, and be a little more serious. Or at least be taken seriously. When I hear that piece of advice: \u201cdo it while you\u2019re young,\u201d I realize I really have done just that. All those things people say they regret when they\u2019re true adults and all tied down, I will never regret. I feel pretty exceptional about the way I\u2019ve lived, so far. But I have lived that way for a decade. I\u2019ve been young, and learned countless lessons from the spectrum of life that my freedom and exploration exposed me to. I still am young by many standards, but now I have moved into a new decade and I\u2019m not entirely sure how to step up to it.<\/p>\n

Another reason I feel my professionalism has been stunted is that I lack a \u201cbusiness sense\u201d. I don\u2019t do well with self-promotion. For example, I worked at a resort for five and a half different summers, and although I was happy with my work there and felt valued as a personality, I only received one raise\u2014when I was promoted after my<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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first year as ice cream shop attendant to art instructor and newsletter editor. The rest of the summers, as I refined my art classes and set up a brand new Nature Center, and contributed skills and things that no one else amongst the 300 employees could, my rate remained the same, and remained at the lower end of the spectrum. At one point, I timidly asked my boss if a raise might be in store for the next season, and was told that it wasn\u2019t in the budget. If I wanted to be paid more I would have to take more hours doing the jobs that already paid more\u2014like banquet bartending, which paid practically double my rate. I did, in fact, take on some bartending and was grateful for the variety and extra income, but ultimately I chose to keep my normal hours for my position that paid less because the work itself felt far more meaningful. In some ways, I still think of that job as the pinnacle of professional success for me. I guess I could have stuck up a bit more for myself and my skills and made more demands, but at the end of the day, I concluded that I was lucky enough to be paid any rate to do work that I loved.<\/p>\n

I share this not to showcase myself as some kind of martyr for what I believe in, but rather to illustrate that the things I have to offer are not particularly lucrative talents, in this world. Or at least that I don\u2019t possess the magic to make them lucrative. This is only one example of many times in my life that I have felt my specific skillset was less valued than another. But due to adaptability and minimal needs, my expectations for income are low. The most interesting jobs I stumble upon never pay well. I have accepted this, and have learned to live on very little. Shockingly little, in fact\u2014literally below the poverty line. \u201cHow do you do it?\u201d ask the adults who make five times more than I do (ten times? Twenty times more?). It\u2019s a very special skill, I\u2019m realizing. But here\u2019s one secret: shop for your bath mats at the thrift store.<\/p>\n

IV. Using Income as a Measurement: Don\u2019t<\/p>\n

Why do people desire wealth and riches? My good friend from college, who will soon be a practicing lawyer, has a sound theory: \u201cfirst you get the money, then you get the power, then you get the bitches.\u201d A simple formula, really. Whether the \u201cbitches\u201d in your world are literal or metaphorical, the point is that if you have money, the things you most desire will become possible, and you will be at the top of the chain. Monetary wealth is associated with success, security, and the ability to afford everything. Following that, happiness. This concept has been explored by many an essayist and philosopher of past and present, and I shant add yet another high-horse piece to the mix about how happiness actually comes from within, and all that gobbledeegook. I will, however, offer a tale of how this very concept has affected the psyche of someone in my particular shoes:<\/p>\n

Just the other day I catered lunch at NASA. My coworker and I drove across the mountain to Silicon Valley and set out a beautiful spread of food for 65 Australian bankers at the Ames Center. These bankers, a collection of very handsome and educated blokes (along with a handful of gals), many who may have been no more than a few years older than me, were meeting at NASA to discuss financials and hock their investment strategies. Amidst the Australians were a collection of other nine-to-five NASA employees, also young and smart and handsome, and rich. All these dudes were approachable people with whom I felt comfortable striking up brief conversations. Had there been more time and different circumstances, perhaps I might have weaseled a date out of one of them.<\/p>\n

But, why bother? At the end of the day, we were worlds apart. A universe apart, in the spirit of NASA. That day, I was the caterer girl. I was dressed in black with my hair pulled up, restocking Pellegrinos and consolidating lemon-thyme chicken salad sandwiches for their meeting. At the end of my day, I would go back to my rented room in Santa Cruz, change into my comfy thrift store dress, make dinner on my hot plate, and strum my ukulele. At the end of their day, the bankers would go back to their hotel room stocked with luxury soaps and pop down to the bar for martinis, and the NASA hotties would drive their convertibles back to their paid-in-full homes in San Jose and watch television on their giant flat screens. Something along those lines, anyway.<\/p>\n

Now, why on Earth would this disparity make me feel unsuccessful, or unworthy? Truth be told, I don\u2019t want to drive a convertible or watch a big-screen TV. I don\u2019t want to own a house in San Jose or work a 9-5 job until I retire. I like wearing colorful dresses and get a kick out of the creative and beautiful food I manage to whip up on my hot plate. I love riding my bike around and playing my ukulele, and the only thing I would use a disposable income for would be to travel the world, learn new things, and find gourmet food to eat. But I manage to do all of that, anyway, so why do I still care?<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s the deal: while my small income matches my small set of needs, and that should be all that matters, it is nonetheless automatically placed somewhere on the spectrum of incomes earned by the masses, and unfortunately that spectrum seems to be viewed interchangeably with the spectrum of \u201csuccess.\u201d According to this spectrum and my place at the very end of it, my status as \u201csuccessful adult\u201d is questionable.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s easy to understand why assessments are made this way in a society that likes to run reports and perform analyses: a person\u2019s income, a concrete dollar amount, is one of the few tangible ways to take a quantitative measurement of one\u2019s success. Other types of success, like creativity, mental balance, being well-adjusted,<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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maintaining quality friendships, finding daily joy, and learning new things, are much harder to measure and see. These are qualitative successes that are difficult to compare to others. And since humans learn largely by watching and emulating just like so many other animals, it\u2019s only natural for us to compare.<\/p>\n

The need to compare is unlikely to change. It is a fact of our species, very predominant in this Western world, and most certainly ubiquitous to the American Dream. If I choose to be part of my country which I have every intention of doing, I cannot escape this perception of success. But here\u2019s the funny thing about the American Dream and its notion of having lots of money: the average American Dreamer is in debt. After all, you have to spend money to make money, I hear.<\/p>\n

Let\u2019s go back to that trusty internet. I think statistics are a bit silly, really, and it\u2019s very unusual for me to spend time on a website dedicated to numbers. But I do so love a clever website name, so I immediately connected with Nerdwallet.com\u2014whether or not it\u2019s the most accurate information. We\u2019re looking to ballpark these statistics, anyway. Nerdwallet.com reports that the average American in 2014 owed $7,283 on their credit cards, and looking only at households carrying debt, the average debt was $15, 611 (mortgage and student loan debts were a whole other ballgame of numbers). Wow! I have never had $15,611 to my name at one time. But quite possibly, many of these so-called \u201cadults\u201d and their spending habits haven\u2019t, either.<\/p>\n

You will notice that my doubts about Adulthood (and the paltry number of zeros at the end of my occasional paychecks) have very little to do with struggling to make ends meet. My ends are met. I just checked my bank account, and as it turns out, I\u2019m in the plus. I even have a few bones in my savings account. At this point, my college loans are paid off, I have no mortgage and no car payment, and I can pay my rent on time. Even in the periods of time where I went months without paying work, I never collected unemployment. I am lucky, of course, not to have costly health issues, family members to take care of, or expensive tastes in shoes. I know this, and I am thankful. On the other hand, I will likely never be able to afford to buy a house, nor will I have built up credit to do so since I have never owned a credit card. I won\u2019t be able to get the power, or the bitches. My loss.<\/p>\n

Now, what would those Australian bankers and the well-off NASA dudes think about the logic of my avant-garde financial planning? I can only speculate about the investment strategies they might throw my way, and the questions they would ask about what I plan to do with myself in my old age when I can no longer farm or stay standing long enough to cater their business lunches. And how about that retirement fund? \u201cThe Future,\u201d I reckon, is the biggest factor that adults worry about with their financials. And I get it. If I had people to take care of and mouths to feed other than my own snooty set of taste buds, I would feel differently about my lack of a plan. As it were, I can afford to be a selfish individual, and if I end up in ruin 40 years down the line, it\u2019s my own damn fault. I\u2019ll have no bitches to blame. I\u2019ll have no bitches, at all. What I will have is a solid set of stories and images of landscapes, people, and adventures\u2014maybe I can hock those on the street for a buck, a washed-up old lady in a wheelchair.<\/p>\n

In the end, what it comes down to is that I can\u2019t rightly measure my personal Adulthood by my income, because I shouldn\u2019t even be on the same spectrum that the average adult is on. Money means something different to me, I suppose; it is only ONE of the currencies that I use to make my way. The most meaningful and amazing things that have happened in my life have almost nothing to do with spending money, save for the expenses of getting from here to there.<\/p>\n

The real disappointment about the size of those paychecks is merely that the numbers don\u2019t make much of a case for the societal value of my individual contributions. But they\u2019re just numbers\u2014and I\u2019m not really a numbers kind of gal. Like a \u201creal adult,\u201d I live responsibly enough to take care of my own financial needs and pay for the things I need to pay for, out-of-pocket. Unlike a \u201creal adult,\u201d I don\u2019t have so many things, and zero other people, relying on my income. The bankers might not approve of my business strategy (or lack of), but I suspect the nerds at Nerdwallet.com might at least commend my tiny little life with its tiny little wallet. I also suspect that the nerds might get a kick out of my ninja turtle bath mat.<\/p>\n

V. What I Think Other People Think, and What I Think Other People REALLY Think, and Are Their Thoughts Important, Anyway?<\/p>\n

If you\u2019ve managed to make it through this essay so far, there is something that should be very clear about its author: I care about what other people think. If I didn\u2019t care, I wouldn\u2019t need to spend hours examining just what makes me feel or not feel like an adult, compared to the other adults. I have spent most of my life trying not to care, trying to feel completely confident with my own path and set of decisions, confident enough to be unapologetic when interacting with others, and not to feel a constant need to explain and justify my lifestyle. I have tried. I have not found success.<\/p>\n

Underneath it all is an inherent \u201cPeople Pleaser\u201d, the Straight-A Student part of me that longs to be<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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immediately accepted and approved of by others. I know I can work on minimizing this thing deep inside, but I also know that it will always be a struggle for me. I want to fit in. Maybe this trait can be helpful\u2014maybe it keeps me from taking my lifestyle to an extreme, keeps me relatable enough to the masses of society so that I may work within that society. But it\u2019s also a silly little burden.<\/p>\n

As you might imagine, many people I meet don\u2019t understand my lifestyle in its full spectrum. Sometimes I feel an air of disapproval or condescension. Last summer while working seasonally for a farm-to-table dinner project that I felt particularly proud of, I met up with an old high school friend, who is now a successful entrepreneur in a myriad of green business undertakings. After explaining what I\u2019d been up to lately, she asked me \u201cSo…what are you actually doing?\u201d I knew what she meant, about moving around and taking on all these random jobs, and not building a career. My formula was the opposite of her formula. Even though I had been content with my world that summer, I found myself immediately feeling doubtful. In this moment, she was an adult and I was not.<\/p>\n

In actuality, as much as I fear \u201cdisapproval,\u201d it is not a reaction I encounter as much as it is in my own head. Moments like the one above are not nearly as common as moments where people express enthusiasm for what I do\u2014whether they get it or not. \u201cYou live the life we all dream of,\u201d said one acquaintance of mine in Vermont a few years back, a family man who had resided in New England for his entire existence. I remember feeling shocked when he said this. It was one of the first times it occurred to me that some people are actually a little bit envious of my life. Some people wish they could do what I do.<\/p>\n

I am lucky to have parents who speak proudly of me to their coworkers and friends, and have seemed never to doubt my ability to find success. During the recent spell of discouraging times, my mom reminded me to \u201cjust think of all the things you have already done, more than most people do in their entire lifetime, and all the people you have influenced!\u201d Moms are great like that. My extended family and friends ask, \u201cWhere is that Traveler off to, next?\u201d and they say the word \u201cTraveler\u201d with a capitol \u201cT,\u201d almost as if it\u2019s some kind of noble profession\u2014an explorer discovering new and uncharted territories, investigating the great unknown so that all may live vicariously through my adventures. On a good day, that\u2019s what I like to think they think. But sometimes it\u2019s hard to view my life in such noble terms. Underneath it all, I can\u2019t help but wonder if they\u2019re actually thinking, \u201cOh, you\u2019re still doing that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Are their opinions about my life important? Not really. Do I care about them, anyway? Yes. Why might this be useful? Well, quite frankly, my perception of their perception helps motivate me to seek my greater potential, to keep striving for something more. I want to feel I\u2019ve earned my Adulthood, and maybe it\u2019s okay on some level to find incentive for this endeavor by living up to invisible expectations.<\/p>\n

Conclusion<\/p>\n

Truth be told, I am happy. I am not perfectly content, but I am happy. I suppose this is the inevitable plight of a Traveler\u2014always seeking something new and maybe, to a disadvantage, keeping one foot out the door at all times. There is comfort in knowing that when times get tough, or when times get boring, there is always the fallback of a change of venue to jumpstart the whole thing. Not everyone has that freedom and that comfort.<\/p>\n

As with many good things, the freedom is a double-edged sword. I move around, a lot. I have passed up opportunities to develop deeply rooted community ties and work on climbing the ladder. That ladder ends up being taken down, folded up, and packed into a suitcase before I can even tip-toe up a few rungs. I may have an ambiguous style, a lack of business sense, and a general disinterest in earning money, power, and bitches. But the most probable issue that has kept me from feeling valued as an adult with a sure-footed role in the world is that I haven\u2019t stayed long enough in a place to establish myself as such.<\/p>\n

So how do I embrace the adult-ish things I am starting to desire? This, I reckon, has potential. Though I don\u2019t imagine I\u2019ll stop being a Traveler at my core, I can foresee some impending changes that allow for a reinvented concept of life. Now that I am in the West again, there is a new wave of appeal about the notion of sticking around, building relationships, and if I leave, being able to come back and keep building. Will it be in Santa Cruz? Too early to say. The West? Almost without a doubt. I have at least narrowed down my general side of the country. I feel more like myself out here. In many ways, I am back where I started, but instead of feeling like I\u2019ve regressed, I am finding myself more and more resolved as the days move forward.<\/p>\n

And what of the ninja turtle bath mat? While dissecting the idea of Adulthood with my new neighbor the other day, he pointed out that the act of buying a bath mat is, in itself, a very adult thing to do. I now own a bath mat for the first time in my life. It might be in my life for just a handful of months, or it might go into my suitcase and show up at the next place I move to. Maybe my style is there, after all\u2014maybe my style is \u201crevolving whimsy.\u201d And maybe I am a pair of hands, and a pair of feet standing on that rug. As it were, my hands create some pretty cool things and shake the hands of some pretty amazing people. My feet take me to some pretty lovely spots. I need to<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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learn to stop the disclaimers, and let it all unfold as it does.
\nMy mobile lifestyle happened by accident, the same way other people might accidentally stumble into a<\/p>\n

career or a family or a mortgage. We each have our natural progressions. Can a Traveler also be an Adult? Sometimes when I think of the other adults I know who travel, I picture first-class plane tickets, sleek rolling luggage, time-shares, and hotel rooms. The image of myself de-planing with my bright green backpack, a faux alligator skin ukulele case, and the phone number of a stranger whose couch I\u2019ll be surfing, doesn\u2019t exactly conjur up the idea of Adulthood. It doesn\u2019t matter, though. I recognize that, personally, I\u2019d rather be going to stay on that stranger\u2019s couch than in a hotel room, knowing I\u2019ll have a new friend and a great story by the time I hop on the next train. Even if I had all the money in the world for the nicest hotel, I\u2019d still want to be on that couch. We all travel differently, and I like my way.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s all it is. We travel differently. Whether at the airport, or through our careers (or non-career lifestyles), and into Adulthood. My method of achieving Adulthood is not typical, and is taking me a lot longer than maybe it takes most people. For those who have gone the more traditional route, who started a family early on or a career fresh out of college and found Adulthood right away, with the matching lavender bath rug and shower curtain, I commend you! In fact, I love your sense of style and it makes me feel good to be in your home. Furthermore, it makes my lifestyle more possible, because you are where you are and not where I am, and vice versa\u2014more room for each of us in our own niches.<\/p>\n

When all is said and done, maybe I\u2019ll pop in on you and your lovely abode, and I would invite you to come to visit me in my rented studio unit. You can sleep on my pull-out couch and stay to dry your feet on my ninja turtle bath mat. We\u2019ll sip coffee, like adults, and eat a scrumptious brunch fresh from the garden with eggs cooked to order on my hot plate. Maybe we\u2019ll chat about how we became adults, where we shop for home goods, and what kind of luggage we travel with.<\/p>\n

Or maybe we\u2019ll just sit outside and breathe in the fresh bay laurels and the citrus blossoms, and listen to the birds. It won\u2019t be long before we become old people who can recognize all the birds by their calls. But for now, we can be simple adult-like people sitting next to each other, somewhere in different places along a spectrum, and enjoy the unidentifiable song\u2014however it hits our ears.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  By Abbey Andersen It all started last month when I bought a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bath rug from the thrift store. New in town, on an extreme budget, and in need of a few things for my rental unit, I headed for the back pile of the Santa Cruz Goodwill. Right away I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":748,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-745","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/745","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=745"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/745\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":750,"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/745\/revisions\/750"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/748"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=745"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=745"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thirtythree.org\/projects\/discovertheunknown\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=745"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}