Of Wisdom and Orange Juice

When I Finally Felt Grown Up

Orange juice not from concentrate - that’s when I’d know I’d arrived. No more mashing cylindrical slush with a wooden spoon. No more scraping sweet sludge against the pitcher. When I grew up, I would buy 100% Natural OJ and sip all I wanted without getting my fingers sticky. Once my fridge was stocked with fancy orange juice, name-brand pickles, and Miracle Whip instead of mayonnaise, I was sure to feel like a sophisticated adult. At least that’s what I thought as a child.

My notion of what it means to be a real grown-up has gone through as many stages as a Broadway musical. As a kid, my concept of adulthood was simplistic; it basically boiled down to the power to purchase. Grown-ups swore that money didn’t grow on trees (and I spent enough time climbing them to know this was true). Yet it seemed like adults could always buy whatever they wanted. All they had to do was whip out their debit card and voila! A dress. A car. A house. My modest allowance just didn’t have these capabilities. But when I became a grown-up, I’d have tons of money (and would probably invest much of it in candy).

As my body matured, however, so did my tastes. When I finally got a job, I didn’t want to eat chocolate by the bag anymore. Candy was nice, but sweeter still was the idea of independence. Throughout childhood, I’d relied on my parents to pay the bills and make the rules. But once I could survive without Mom and Dad, then I’d surely be an adult.

Soon after turning nineteen, I drove six hundred miles from home to live with some girlfriends for a summer. I worked in retail selling kitchen supplies and soon discovered that discretionary income is always a few digits shy of the number on the paycheck. Liberty is not only exciting; it’s also expensive.

The ironic thing about personal freedom is that once you have it, you have to pay for things that were once free. Rather than going toward an indulgent stash of sweets, most of my capital paid for practical things like rent, electricity, and groceries (usually the non-fancy kind). Along with the ability to run my life came the responsibility to support my lifestyle, and being in charge could be complicated at times.

One day while I was at work, I noticed a police car parked by my Saturn. Since there were no customers, I walked outside to find that someone had accidentally hit my car. Sure enough, there was a sizable dent near the brake light with an apologetic woman standing beside it. Thankfully, the damage was merely external.

Although my car functioned well, I still needed to figure out all the insurance stuff. So I did what most stereotypical females do when they have a car problem - I called my dad. He’d found the car for me in the first place and usually handled this sort of thing.

However, I soon realized my dad wouldn’t be able to fix this problem for me. For the first time in my life, I would be the one to call the insurance company, research auto mechanics, and gather damage estimates. I was intimidated. But I flipped through the phonebook, made some calls, and drove to the mechanic like a big girl.

While taking care of my car and paying the bills gave me a new sense of competence, I still felt like a kid in some ways. After all, I still watched movies, hung out with friends, and went to school (although I now paid for these things). I didn’t have a curfew, but I also didn’t have that peaceful feeling of being a full-fledged grown-up. Maybe that feeling would come once I got married. Only true grown-ups ever did that. I thus upgraded my definition of adulthood yet again and looked forward to living happily ever after.

I didn’t have to wait long. Shortly before turning twenty-one, I married my favorite person and moved to Tennessee to make his home my own. Ironically, changing my name did not change my attitude; I had the ring, but not the self-assured reality of being a grown-up. Jason and I had been friends since high school, so marriage felt more like an eternal slumber party rather than a milestone of maturity.

Several months later, I found out I would soon be moving to where all the truly official grown-ups lived - motherhood. Moms are like God; they see everything, know everything, heal the sick, and can be in two places at once (thanks to cell phones). As a mom, I was sure to have all the answers. But it didn’t take long to learn that parenting produces its own plethora of questions.

How would I recognize real labor? What do I do when the baby cries? How does weaning work? Do babies sleep on their tummies or on their backs? I spent the next nine months reading books on pregnancy and feeding schedules. I researched online. I even took a childbirth class with my husband. But for all my studying, I knew the real education lay ahead.

On delivery day, I felt less than omniscient as my entrance into motherhood was anything but graceful. Our son arrived early while Jason and I were out of town for a wedding. Jason sped toward the hospital where we’d pre-registered while I clutched the door handle and hummed Take Me Back to the Black Hills during contractions. Two hours later, we arrived home only to discover our hospital was full. We went elsewhere and had a confusing time finding an entrance, a parking space, and assistance. After hours of pushing with little progress, I ended up with a C-section and spent my first day of motherhood bound to a gurney.

After life regained some routine, I was surprised to find that having a newborn was a lot like toting a baby doll around. Although Jason and I were often tired, we were still socially mobile. If our son wasn’t getting passed around party guests, he was sleeping through entire events (and celebrating with us later at 2:00 and 4:00 in the morning).

I also learned that motherhood does not morph you into a “sophisticated” adult. In fact, it reconnects you back to childhood. I started taking new delight in passing planes and cars because my toddler thought they were amazing. I also started reading picture books, playing with bubbles, and watching Winnie the Pooh. Sometimes I felt more like a kid on a new adventure rather than a field expert.

Getting my degree didn’t grant me that grown-up feeling, either. I graduated in December, but there are no huge commencement ceremonies in winter. I was happy to finish school, but doing so did not significantly alter my identity. I was still a wife and mother. Attending spring graduation was somewhat of an afterthought.

What sort of magic could possibly transform me into a grown-up if independence, marriage, motherhood, and graduation couldn’t do the trick? I was beginning to think that self-assured adulthood might be a myth. But I unexpectedly felt a sense of restful competence as I entered motherhood for the second time.

Unlike my first pregnancy and birth where everything was new and uncertain, I now knew my way around the block and had total freedom in my personal homebirth. It was miraculous and empowering to bring a new person into the world without being passively strapped to a surgeon’s table. When push came to shove, God was merciful and gracious to give me a baby girl. And it was nice not to fret every time she cried on this second go around. Although there was more excitement at the birth of my first child, there was certainly more peace at the arrival of my second. I was battle-proven now, no longer barraged with incessant questions or doubts that I could survive on the homefront.

On my second trip into motherhood, I learned that life isn’t all about the milestones - it’s about the miles in between. It’s not about leaving home; it’s about learning responsibility. It’s not about the wedding day; it’s about the marriage. Not having the baby. But bringing it home. It’s the lessons you learn while walking beyond the milestones that truly make you a grown-up.

People often look to a marriage license, child’s birth certificate, or Bachelor’s degree to define themselves. Yet wisdom often goes undocumented. Being a grown-up is not based on what you have, but rather on what you do with what you know. That’s wisdom. My knowledge gleaned from past experiences enabled me to smile at a future with two children. Maturity didn’t come instantly. It grew for over twenty-four years to make me who I am today. It may take time to cultivate, but ripened wisdom produces a harvest of peace that can lift your spirit and nourish your soul. Just like orange juice not from concentrate.