StALaGU

References to my folks have cropped up here before. Even the theme of parental sacrifice. But lately my thoughts about parenthood and family have taken a new turn--in large part, I think, because now I am Starting to Act Like a Grown Up.

This is not the first time I've had that thought. When I filed my own taxes (age fourteen). When I gamely agreed to move overseas (age sixteen). Left home (seventeen). College (eighteen). Teaching (nineteen). Corporate world (twenty). Starting grad school (twenty-two). Moving in with a boy (twenty-five). Leaving grad school (in twenty days).

Not every major life event has made me feel like this. Graduating high school and college did not feel particularly adult. Instead, they were rituals that emphasized youth, and left me pretty burnt out. Likewise, ending my first long-term relationship did not make me swell with pride, though it was a necessary step in my maturation. Moving back to Boston for my graduate program seemed like a step backwards, since I was returning to the city of my adolescence. It wasn't, but it definitely felt like a retreat, not an advance.

This time, this instance of Starting to Act Like a Grown Up, is somehow different. Though there are major life events involved--getting a Real Job, the boy and I talking about Spending our Lives Together, moving into our Own Apartment--these I take as symptomatic of a larger change, rather than the trigger.

I think the actual trigger, whatever started me down this Path to Adulthood, is twofold: money, and biology.

Which is where parenting comes in. My day started with reading this on The Billfold. The title made me expect something else, but it ended up being about the crushing guilt that comes with asking parents for help when it isn't strictly needed, when it's for something that's ultimately selfish. As kids and teens and young adults, many of us probably didn't give a second thought to asking our folks for stuff we wanted; our needs were already being met (I hope). And like the article's author says, even now--if I really needed something--I have no doubt that my parents would take care of it. It's a safety net, born of a biological imperative to care for one's children, that shouldn't be taken for granted.

Part of the long process of Starting to Act Like a Grown Up, for me, is becoming self-sufficient. Or at least, not directly relying on the previous generation. This very 20th century paradigm is shifting, given the recession's impact on my age bracket, prompting millions to move back home. But the old values are hard to change, and I for one definitely tie my personal financial independence to adulthood.

I've borrowed money from my folks in recent memory, after I'd been unemployed for a while... and by "borrow," they mean "pay us back when you're putting us in a Home." I also lived with them for three months after graduating. They've paid for dental appointments and my mattress and every plane ticket for Christmas break. Perhaps most significantly, they paid for my undergraduate education, giving me a debt-free head start.

I've borrowed from my older sister, when my stipend check was late. That time, "borrow" meant "pay me back, in actual dollars," which I did. In many ways, she is the very model of fiduciary responsibility: she had a high paying internship throughout high school and college, giving her the kind of means most teens dream about. She was able to pay for her first car, not a beater, in cash. She had a CD, not just a savings account, before she was seventeen. She buys her own plane tickets for Christmas break.

And I've let my boyfriend cover a larger share of the rent between paying jobs. Countless trips to the grocery store. Fancy anniversary dinners.

These are not proud moments.

On the other hand: I'm, like, 85% sure that I'll be able to look back at those moments with some measure of happiness. They are reflections of familial and romantic love from the people I care about most. (Not to leave out my younger sister! She was always generous with her emotional support, and was definitely too young for me to ask for anything else.) I was sick to my stomach with every bank transfer, but I take that as a sign of my own love for them in return. I don't want to cause them any hardship, even if they can afford it. They don't want to see me in hardship, either. Money and biology. Together forever.

Now that I'm solidly back on my feet, and should remain so for the foreseeable future, I am relieved that I don't have to call on that safety net anymore.

Money's no longer an problem; instead, it makes things possible.

It makes life-stuff, biology-stuff, possible. It's made my live-in gentleman and I more comfortable talking about What's Next. Now we don't have to participate in that popular narrative, postponing marriage because of the recession (whether or not that's actually happening at large). We can talk about our retirement accounts. We can cautiously make future plans to buy a house, or at least move to a bigger apartment, and to get a dog. My partner and I can think about making a our own family one day. A day that's becoming more and more real.

Most of us aren't bodhisattvas or wandering sages or the Great American Rail-Riding Hobo. Tangible,  material, physical things are important facets of our lives, whether you have the means to get those things or not. Whether you want to get them or not. Making families. Making relationships. Making meaningful careers. You can do them on a shoestring; your golden parachute can fail. Your body can work with you or against you. But money, and biology, are going to do their thing.

And right now, for me, their thing is turning Erin into a Grown Up.