Legacy Writing 365:228

Twenty-two was a hard year. There’s a reason why they call those years the “turbulent twenties.” We’re no longer teens, and we’re not quite adults. If we’ve gone to college, we’ve been able to put off a lot of the experiences and decisions that come with adult life. But even those people who get jobs and start mimicking “grown-up” behaviors right out of high school may start to hit snags in their twenties.

There’s also a reason they call it the “me decade.” We’re making choices, figuring out who we want to be. Sometimes they’re bad choices. Sometimes we behave like people we wouldn’t even want to be friends with, much less be. It’s all part of learning how to navigate in the world. We’re supposed to focus on ourselves, make mistakes, learn, and shape ourselves into people we can stand to see in the mirror for the rest of our lives.

When I was twenty-two, I began to see that I’d made a lot of decisions that propelled me in a certain direction, and it wasn’t necessarily the direction I wanted to go. For several years, I’d behaved with the maturity of someone much older in an effort to meet expectations or please others–often not in my own best interests. It seemed like a good idea, but I don’t think there are shortcuts to maturity.

Sometimes we’re forced into growing up fast–the death of a parent, a pregnancy, a bankruptcy, and sometimes we embrace growing up because we want certain things–a spouse, a child, approval, love, money–but there are still some developmental steps we shouldn’t jump over.

When I was twenty-two, I was fortunate to have good people in my life who wanted the best for me. But sometimes they thought it was best to protect me. Sometimes they had their own agendas for my life. That can limit a person’s growth; some of it is even destructive. Nobody gets through this life unscathed–a person can have a lot of buffers, including money, success, and acclaim, but there’s never been a real buffer for growing pains. They come from inside us.

When I was twenty-two, I felt trapped by some of my choices. I took missteps and delayed things I should have dealt with. A lot of my behavior was self-defeating. Some of my choices had consequences that would last long beyond twenty-two. I got through it, occasionally with constructive assistance from people who wanted me to be okay, to be strong, and to succeed.

There’s a phrase that’s become popular, though I first heard it in, of all places, wedding vows on a daytime drama, when a bride made a promise to always give her beloved a “safe place to fall.” We can’t and shouldn’t try to run other people’s lives, make decisions for them, or shame them into doing what we think is best, not even under the guise of protecting them. If we are truly to love, mentor, and support them, sometimes the best thing we can offer is a safe place to fall.

Then when they get up and try again, we let them stumble. And walk. And run. And fly.