Frou Frou.

As children, all we want to be are adults. We want to dress up in Mom's dresses, we want to wear Dad's ties, we want to play house and pretend to yell at unruly children. We want to cook dinner for a family of six. As teenagers, we want to drive cars, and drink beer with the guys on a porch under the stars. We want to kiss the mouths of people our age instead of the rosy cheeks of grandmothers and aunts.

As children and teenagers, we want to dream and pretend and play. And at that age, it's okay, even expected.

As adults, we are taught how to drive cars and handle money and not overdraw bank accounts. We are given educations and provided with the skills needed to have jobs, careers. We are decision-makers and financially independant and stressed out.

As adults, as adults.

What about the in-between? Where does freedom come into play? I feel like I'm stuck, somewhere between retirement age and child. I am an adult who struggles with commitment and contentment and wants nothing more than to break loose.

I don't think the black and white statistics cover people of adult age who don't want to live in a proper house with a proper family, holding a proper job, relying on proper financial coverage, or me.

Over pizza and wings tonight, I sat with a good friend and we talked about how our plans for this summer both somehow went awry. We were both okay with it. And then she asked me what I planned on doing next summer. Our conversation went something like this:

"Well, I don't plan on sticking around here."

"Really? Where do you plan on going?"

"Across the States. Maybe Europe. All I would need is a plane ticket for Europe."

She covered her mouth, eyes wide. "With what money?"

Well, I'm not going to touch that argument, but I shrugged and said something else, and then we switched conversation topics. I remember thinking, it doesn't matter. I work two jobs during the school year. That's what money.

And.

When the hell am I going to have no other commitments like this ever again? I'm tired of friends, family looking down upon the fact that I don't have 'acceptable' ambitions. I'm not a cookie-cut 21 year old. I suffer severely from curiosity and the urge to act upon my daydreams. I'm not a stranger to fantasizing and acting upon my whims. I'm going to make mistakes, and it's okay.

"Just let me go."

That's what I told her.