“Why don’t you get a job in your field?”
“I don’t really have a field.”
“Yes you do. You have your degree.”
“Well, mum, by that logic my field is prairie poetry and Stan Rogers lyrics.”
This little snippet is the best description I can offer of a generation gap that causes millions of misunderstandings in the debate over what constitutes adulthood. The days of graduating from university and becoming a company man or woman are over. I don’t know anyone who owns property. Most people lease. A few friends have kids, but as terrific as they are, not many were planned. Being behind on rent and going out for lavish suppers is a constant. Maybe these are all markers of my immaturity. I’m willing to concede that my only real responsibility is to a ten year old cockapoo named Frank, but it seems to me that traditional definitions of adulthood are obsolete. We’re really just bumbling from one opportunity to the next, and truth be told, it’s much more fun than stressing out over a rigid five year plan co-authored ten years ago by a high school guidance counsellor. With the freedom to try new things, jump on bandwagons and spend a year obsessing over the history of Saskatchewan, hopefully the adulthood I piece together will be richer than the one I had planned in the seventh grade.
What follows is a collection of my personal experiences that contribute to the continuing development of my adulthood. It is by no means an advice column. I merely offer to you, the interweb, empirical data.