One of the things that most amazes as one grows older is the human’s infinite capacity for immaturity. Based solely on empirical evidence, i.e., my own personal experience, I have discovered that there really is no division between being mature and being immature. There is no magic threshold one crosses, such as turning 21…40…60…90, that defines one as mature. Older yes; mature, not necessarily.
Remember when, as a child, you woke up on a wintry morning, peeked out a window, and saw a gleaming white landscape? If it was a weekday, your first reaction was, “Yay! No school!” (If your first reaction was, “Darn! No School!” then you were probably born mature and are not going to get anything out of this essay.) Currently, all of Western North Carolina, where I happen to be, is under a thick blanket of snow. Some mountain roads are impassible and many vehicles are buried. Especially mine (Yay!).
When there’s lots of snow “Little Me” comes out. I am sitting in my nice warm bed with my nice warm laptop wearing my nice warm pajamas in the middle of the afternoon, thinking “Yay! I don’t have to go grocery shopping tomorrow.” My level of maturity is questionable for several reasons: a) I’m still in my pajamas; b) I’m still in bed; and c) my first thoughts at the falling of the first flake are about all the things I won’t have to do, whether I planned to do them or not. The fact is that it doesn’t matter if I want to do them, I can’t! My road hasn’t been cleared and there’s no getting out of my steep driveway.
Not only are there lots of things I don’t have to do away from the house, there are plenty of things I can’t do right here at home. I can’t pick up the branches and twigs that have fallen all over the yard from the high winds we experienced this week—they’re buried in snow. I can’t upright the bridge over my creek; it’s frozen in place (which is the wrong place). Of course I can’t rake leaves or pull weeds; I can’t even see them. And, best of all, I can’t shovel the snow from the driveway because the driveway is gravel and I don’t want to disturb even one pebble. Unlike that schoolgirl of yesteryear, I don’t have an “adult” who has a list of things I could be doing while “stuck” home. Husband Chip doesn’t mind what I do as long as it doesn’t interfere with his naps and meals (talk about a baby!).
Article comments
1 - Jon Sobel
This may be the first time in my life I've ever used this expression, but: You go girl!
2 - Dawn
Miss Bob, I call this embracing my inner-whatever-year old, and I insert the age that corresponds to whatever level of maturity of lack thereof that plugs in well. I LOVE your writing style and the way your mind works...as I sit in my bed, with my laptop in my flannel pj's that I've worn all day. ;-) I did just eat a sort of nutritional cup of yoghurt & a salad, but it wasn't because I felt like being mature - it was pretty much all I had left in the fridge. (and I loaded salad w/ bacon bits, shredded cheese, dried cranberries, Chinese crispy noodles and full fat dressing)
I am quite relieved to know there are others out there who blatantly and defiantly embrace their inner whatever-year-olds. This, I believe, is merely a balanced approach to life.
~ Dawn
3 - Cindy
What a wonderful, wonderful piece Miss Bob. Refreshingly self-defining...and alive...and thankfully devoid of work ethic being the center of existence. I loved this!
(And I'll pick the Kraft macaroni and cheese--in the box.)
4 - Joanne Huspek
Very humorous. I can relate.
5 - Reiki
Hilarious! If this is what it means to be immature, most people could benefit from a little immaturity now and then... or more often than not. Great article!
As for me, I choose pizza, macaroni and cheese... cake frosting and ice cream :)