Two weeks from today is my final day at the theatre where I began my career three years ago. Two weeks and one day from today I load up a truck and move to Astoria. The pressure is certainly on; I’m tying up loose ends at work, packing up my apartment, canceling my utilities in Hartford, and trying to make plans with all of my Hartford friends before I leave town. As much as my wonderful parents are willing to help me through this process, I find myself eager to make my own arrangements (emotional support is always welcome, though).
About a year ago, I read this article in the NY Times about adulthood; evidently, my generation holds on to childhood much longer than our parents and grandparents. It makes sense- in today’s economy and competitive workforce, it’s not as easy to land a job and set up financial independence, meaning there are more and more college grads living with their parents. We also hold onto our childhood by getting married and starting families much later in life (my parents were married, had purchased a home, and had their first child by the time they were my age!). While I’m definitely not ready for marriage or a baby (the pup fills that void), I love the idea of financial independence. It’s just so sexy, isn’t it?! Even though I haven’t really lived with my parents since high school and I’ve been in the professional work force for over a year, my parents still help me financially here and there. I have a savings account (what anal retentive gay Jewish boy doesn’t?) and this is what savings accounts are for, right? If I have to dip into it to cover some moving expenses, then I’ll know that it was my work brought me to New York. It’s funny when you catch yourself handling grown up problems without your parents by your side- yelling at the dentist for not explaining the charges, arguing with a boyfriend, filing taxes on your own, researching the safety of a neighborhood. Ah, I’ve just got to enjoy every moment of it!
Hey, I’m holding on to my childhood too: when over-stressed by all this transition, I’m still allowed to snap at my mom like a 13 year old and, thanks to Obama Care, I can go back on my parents health insurance while I wait for my new benefits to kick in. I’m also about to paint my dresser a vibrant lime green. And hey, if they want to rent the moving truck for me, who am I to refuse?