The Transition into Adulthood

It's easy to think that leaving one's parents' house is one of the more objective milestones in becoming an adult. And it probably is. But there are other, more subtle milestones in truly becoming an adult.

In my early thirties, completely unexpectedly, I got a roommate. I was living in a very, very small house, and an acquaintance, we will call her Clare, needed a place to live. At the time, Clare and I were both on the tail end of some personal upheaval, and even though neither of us knew it then, we both needed someone to help us find our new paths.

My roommateship-turned-friendship with Clare rapidly became a foundation of my life. Clare allowed me to re-join the world in a healthy, open-hearted way, and while it would be easy to say that roommate relationships are throwaway in the grand scheme of things, my relationship with Clare was, and is, anything but insignificant.

Clare was great to live with for many reasons. First, Clare is much tidier than me. She taught me that I have an incredibly annoying habit of leaving my shoes in the middle of a passageway. She is also a plant whisperer, and while my cats worked every second of every day to counter this gift, our house was filled with terrariums of healthy, green plants. Clare also is a lot better at feeding herself than I am, so she would recognize that I hadn't eaten real dinner and assist me with that.

This has been a life long issue for me. Left to my own devices, I will subsist off of popcorn and gummy bears, and maybe an avocado. In fact, recently, my husband was leaving for a few nights and he asked me, "Do you have plans for dinners, or are you just going to live off of popcorn and dreams?" Popcorn and dreams did sound dreamy.

Clare initially thought this pathological problem could be corrected. She decided that we would make the 5+ hour round trip drive to Costco together. When we got there, she put me on her Costco card. Now I could, when in the big city alone, pick up groceries for all of us.

For several years, Clare and I shared a Costco card. Then, I got engaged, and then Clare got engaged. It wasn't the beginning of our end, but it was the end of the liminal time in which we'd found ourselves. These were the last days when Clare would cut up apples and put them in my work coat pocket as a snack. These were the last days when I would bring Clare a plant back from some trip, my cat would kill it before Clare could find a safe location for it. All good things do come to an end.

Clare sat me down one day.

"We need to talk," she said.

I stopped what I was doing because this was obviously serious.

"Okay..."

"I love you. I really do, but..." She took a steadying breath. "...I have to put my fiancé on the Costco card. I don't want you to think I don't care about, you but it's just..."

I laughed.

"Yeah, Clare, that's totally fine. I get it."

And I did. And, really, me just buying big bags of gummy bears and popcorn at Costco wasn't actually a good use of the membership.

Yes, I left home when I was eighteen. Yes, I have bought a water heater. Yes, I have spent time on the phone arguing with an insurance representative. Yes, I have done lots of adult things.

But really, your last pre-marriage roommate kicking you off her Costco card to make room for her soon-to-be husband, that is a moment that truly defines a new phase of adulthood.

Clare, next time you're feeling old and entrenched, eat some gummy bears for dinner and trip over a pair of shoes in the doorway. Nothing makes you feel younger than a sugar stomachache and kicking a Croc at the wall.

Miss you. Always and forever.

-p