I've been long considering starting picking up blogging again. I'm pretty much done with school, no more multiple pages of elaborative lab reporting, book reviewing, and other such reiterating. I kind of miss writing. This is really the first time in my life that I haven't had to write regularly. And that's something to think about. No more high school, no more college, I guess that means I'm a grown up now, right?
Surprisingly enough, it doesn't feel much different. I now live on my own, married, with a baby, but I can still relate to what life was like three, five, almost ten years ago. Thinking about myself when I was 11, I have a hard time actually comprehending that I was the exact age one of my little brothers are now. It doesn't seem like my habits, concerns, or interests have changed all that much.
When I was 11 and imagined myself as 20 I was a lot different than I am now. I figured that by then I'd wear lots of makeup every day. I'd dress in ladies suit-jackets and high heels, even if I was only a scientist, because I'd be very professional no matter what career into which I landed. I'd wear my hair up constantly, because it was going to stay pin straight forever, despite my early childhood dreams of inheriting mom's curls. It seemed that I was destined to be kind of boring as a 20-year-old, but it wouldn't seem so once I got there, so it was all cool. I'd eventually appreciate and prefer being professional, beautiful, and fake.
I've changed a lot less than I had expected in the last 9 years. I don't own a single suit jacket. My hair actually did get curly when I was 13. I still bite my nails. I continue to wear t-shirts and sneakers everyday (though I have maturely ditched the habit of wearing pants to Sunday Mass). I play with my daughter the same way I've always played with my infant siblings. I still read an occasional Star Wars book. Being a grown up is actually a lot less boring that I thought it would be.
