I don't think I was bitten by the grown-up bug. I've talked about this a bit before because it seems that I am fast becoming a part of a minority of peers that is not coupled up, pregnant and/or owning a house. It's really weird to think that the same friends whom I downed shots with at numerous Yooper bars are the people who now coo over their offspring and spend weekends doing home renovations. If that is what brings them joy, then I have nothing but kind wishes and loads of respect for them. But--like I said--I was not bitten by the grown-up bug.
I have never wanted to own real estate. Ever. Call me crazy, but if my toilet is overflowing, I don't want to have to be the one to shell out hundreds of dollars for a plumber. I'd rather call my landlord and shriek into their ears to shell out the cash to fix the problem. A part of this comes from a very real, very vivid dream I've had since I was a little girl. I imagined that I lived in an airy, open loft-like apartment in the middle of a chaotic, inspiring city, complete with exposed brick walls and large canvases filled with brilliant art works. That, to me, is my perfect haven. And nowhere in that dream do I own the place. It might be a bonus perhaps, but as long as I live in a beautiful space, that is enough for me. Words like "mortgage" and "home improvement" make me all twitchy and aggravated. Real estate has just never been a part of my dream.
The same goes for children. I love children. I fall in love with cherubic little ones every time I spy them giggling in the aisles of Target or playing in parks. I love the little outfits they get to wear and the fun little toys they get to play with. (Where the hell were those toys when I was little?!? All I had was a bouncy horse and a hula hoop, not battery-operated awesome-ness like the kiddies have today.) I even play peek-a-boo with infants who wave at me. I love kids, I truly do. This does not mean, however, that I crave a brood of my own. Quite the opposite--if I could have my uterus removed tomorrow I would be prepping for surgery tonight.
And it's not because I don't want to schlep a fetus around for nine months. Giving birth seems like an amazing thing to endure as a part of the female experience, but I think I'll pass. I've known for quite some time (at least ten years or more) that I didn't want to have children. I want to experience so much that life and this world has to offer, especially traveling and particularly finding myself in every way possible (except the maternal way). I just do not think that a child factors into that equation. I am a self-centered woman; I think I am too selfish to be a mother. I am completely comfortable with this fact, despite the fact that roughly 90% of people I tell this to shake their heads and put a knowing smile on their faces as they tell me "you'll change your mind". They have not been correct yet. And while I reserve the right to change my mind in the future as life unfolds, I don't see myself as mother material. I'll continue to coo at others' little ones and buy gifts for friends' babies and be the cool aunt or friend or godmother. I'm perfectly fine with this role.
One role I would like to fulfill at some point in time is that of girlfriend/fiance'/wife. I'm finally at a place in life where I feel comfortable putting myself out there, despite my fears of having my heart puree'd. The trick, though, is figuring out how to do that in an area that doesn't seem to value liberal-minded, loud-mouthed women. I've nearly given up the idea of having a relationship while living here because there is a shortage of men my age who have all of their teeth and know proper grammar. But at some point? I would like to give this whole relationship thing a try again--hopefully to better results than last time.
I've become more introspective about my life and my choices because I am reminded daily of my friends' lives thanks to the lovely Facebook. Many of them have found their One, or bought the house of their dreams, or birthed a baby...or all three. While I have no doubt that their lives aren't perfect, they have something more tangible than I do. It's hard to explain my feelings of success and fulfillment when they're positioned more in the reflective realm than the concrete world. And to outsiders, it may appear that I am not a grown-up because I don't have these tangible things. And perhaps that's true--I live among students and I chose the field I did because I desperately missed college. And I don't want the same things that others do. But perhaps not being bitten by that grown-up bug isn't such a bad thing. If it means that I'm at peace with what I need out of life and I know what I need to do to get there, then I'm keeping a can of bugspray by my side because I'm in a good place at the moment and I'd like to keep it that way.