I’ve been to our town’s high school this morning to observe one of our bright student-teachers. I love going to high schools because it’s a great feeling to look at the kids and realize that I’m not one of them. They still have to figure out everything I already have, poor mites. Career choice, learning to make and manage money, sexuality, self-esteem, dating, friendships, relationships, clothes, looks, body image, even skin care. I’m so happy that I’ve figured this all out already because I can’t say that the learning process was fun.
God, it’s great to be an adult. I can sleep whenever I want, eat whatever I want, spend my time and money any way I want, and nobody can say anything to me about it. And my skin isn’t going to break out either.
And then, of course, the most important difference between a teenager and an adult is that the latter does not see as hugely relevant how others perceive him or her. I looked at those kids today and it was very obvious that, for them, nothing mattered more than the impression they were making. The insecurity in the classrooms and hallways was palpable. Oh, I remember those times. I wish I could finally forget them. It is so great to feel secure in oneself and to care only very minimally what others think about you.
Seriously, it took everything I had not to come up to high school students and tell them, “Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah! It’s good not to be you.”
Did anybody among those who are reading this enjoy the process of growing up? I dig the result, but the actual process was brutal.
Adulthood kicks ass, people.
Clarissa's Blog 
People who mourn for their childhoods have forgotten how awful it was to be a child. God I am glad I’m a grown-up.
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The worst thing is the complete lack of autonomy. You always have to do what other people tell you to. What horror!
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I’m *still* breaking out, but on the other hand I no longer have to slather that horrible prescription cream on my face that my mother said would cure my pimples, but just itched and made my skin flake. I can instead use my money on stuff that works, and she can’t say a thing about that.
I also love that I can cook whatever meals I want, wear whatever I want, and make the personal choice of not having a scale in my house. Independent adult living rules.
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My childhood, and even teenage years, were not stereotypical. In fact, the kind of inwardness that would be concerned with how others were thinking did not exist for me until I made efforts to develop it much later, in my late twenties. Even later, I gave it up as an attempt to adapt to Western culture, which had failed. I did catch glimmers of how it would be to be concerned about perceptions in the form of the school beauty competition, but this was still a rather understated and de-emphasized event in overall school life.
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