Adulting (Still Under Construction)

My birthday is 5 months away, exactly 134 days from now, and I haven’t accomplished anything to show for it.

Like my dad once told me, “How can you find happiness when you haven’t contributed any real milestone to society? No career, no husband, no kids. What exactly have you found happiness in?”

And normally this wouldn’t bother me, because my dad is like most men in this world who believe a woman’s happiness comes solely from reproduction and not satisfaction. Like the thought of me being satisfied with being single, kid free, and stress free somehow means I have succumbed to the failures of my womanhood. Like somehow I became too culturally radical, too satisfied with myself, too comfortable existing outside of what a woman is supposed to be. A modern day Jezebel. A clown of a woman.

But for more reasons than one, this particular criticism from my dad, my best friend, my birth father, has replayed in my mind for what feels like days.

Could it be that my dad was right?

Have I failed at life?

And if I have, am I happy with the outcome? Or is being single and carefree not satisfying enough? Am I ready to contribute to society, or is satisfaction simply not worth the same amount of happiness that I once knew?

Not to contradict myself, but if I’m being honest, which is something I promised to do regardless of how painful the truth may be, then yes, to some extent, my dad is right.

I mean, how could he not be?

I have no career that can sustain my daily existence. The cost of living is more than I can bear, more than I can handle. Which leads me to what feels like my second failure, my inability to sustain a relationship that could potentially end in marriage. Which, in today world, feels less like love and more like survival.

I mean, how else is someone supposed to afford a house?

Having two incomes in today’s world is equivalent to the one income my dad was able to survive on back in his day. Which is ironic, because how can it be that I am a 21st century woman, yet in order to survive in this modern day world, I still feel like I need to rely on a husband like I’m living centuries before my time.

Sometimes I wonder if our leaders tanked the economy just enough to force us back into reproductive coercion disguised as stability. And if that is the case are they aware that some women’s wombs have already betrayed them? That no matter how hard they try, there’s nothing they can do to fix it.

I doubt our leaders care.

But if they don’t care, then why should I continue measuring my worth through standards that were never built for my happiness to begin with?

Because if my dad is only right to some extent, then what about the part where he isn’t?

Can my happiness come from within? I mean, why wouldn’t it? Why shouldn’t I be happy with the little things I’ve already contributed to society? Better yet, why shouldn’t I be happy that I made it this far at all? That I made it when there was once a time in my life when I truly believed I would never make it past 21?

So yeah, my birthday is 134 days away.

And to that, I sing loudly and proudly, “It was the third of September, the day I’ll always remember.”

Because September 3rd is worth remembering. If anything, it’s the day my happiness first arrived on this earth simply through the act of being born.

So why shouldn’t that be enough?

Why shouldn’t I continue adding onto it?

So yes, today I am happy with how far I’ve come. But on some days, I do want a husband and kids. Not because I expect my happiness to come from them, but because they could add to the happiness I already have within myself.