Blogatron

Please Pass the Play-Doh, I Think I'm On a Roll Here

This morning was one of those mornings where you just feel like the mechanics of day-to-day life are a little too much for you: slept late, tried to make impromptu iced tea with Chaplinesque results, somehow managed to put all the gel into one quarter-sized section of hair right on top of my head, frightened the cat, etc. As I hurled myself out the door with my keys dangling out of my mouth, my lunch clutched tenuously in one hand, using the other hand to pull on a sneaker, my hair already afrizz except for the telltale grease spot, I had this strong urge to just give up. Just throw all my crap on the ground, the hell with being considerate to my neighbors, go back inside, lock the door, get out the box of Tofutti Cuties and sit on the floor in front of morning cartoons/sleazy talk shows until every last one was gone. Then take a nap.

However, here I am at work. Uh...here I am at work, WRITING THIS ENTRY ON MY LUNCH BREAK. Yeah. Anyway, what I am saying is that I resisted that urge. But it got me thinking: I, and everyone I know, always seem to be operating at a level just barely within our tolerance. We take on work, hobbies, chores and socializing, and periodically there is some conflation of tiredness and bad timing and mishap that makes us think, "That's it. I just can't do this! It's too big for me, this endless stream of details and responsibilities."

When I was a kid, I was intensely jealous of grownups. My envy wasn't caused by the fact that they seemed to be able to do all the things I wanted to do but wasn't allowed to, since staying up late, watching scary movies, and eating junk food was the entire extent of my illicit desires at the time. What got me was their damnable, smug (or so it seemed to me) self-assuredness. They always had an answer; they always knew what the rules were; they always knew the best way to solve problems that seemed insurmountable to me. It was maddening to have some sleek adult, some person who never had dirty knees or threw a tantrum, come along and condescendingly deliver the answer to a dilemma that had reduced me to blubbering tragedy or unthinking rage. I mean they didn't even have to try hard.

What you learn, of course, what makes you resentful as a teenager and horrified at twenty and bewildered at twenty-seven and I just can't wait to find out what happens next, what you learn is that all those adults knew what to do about you and your issues because they had done them all before. They had an unfair advantage; they had seen the test already. But when it comes down their own concerns, the grownups are just as confused, just as likely to get overwhelmed, just as uncertain what to do next as your average kindergartner. That image I had, that milestone I waited for when I would be an unruffleable adult, is never going to happen. What's worse is that if you're supposed to be a grownup, you can no longer get away with just throwing your work on the floor, sitting down, and having a good howl whenever you need one. Doesn't go over so big in the conference room.

I propose that this is unfair. We spend so much of our youth thinking that someday we'll be okay, we'll be right all the time and never feel like the world is composed of a series of regulations that no one wants to tell us about until we break them, only to discover that they change every time you blink.

I say everyone needs a day or two of living that original illusion, of feeling like they've made it at last. So I have this idea. Once in awhile, instead of calling in sick, we should be able to call in five. We should put on our sloppy clothes, and drive to Grownup Kindergarten. When we get there, kind people will give us nametags and tell us we are doing very well. Everyone else will have their own nametags, and no one will be our boss or some coworker with passive-aggressive issues or a lady in front of us in line with a sense of entitlement and all the time in the world. There will be finger paint, and story time, and nap time.

We will know, because it happened already, that it's no big deal to share the blocks; we can always come back later. We will know, because we've done it before, that the best way to fight a bully is to not take them seriously. We will know, because we realized it long after the first time we did it, that there are much more fun ways to spend your time than worrying about what Sally said about our hair. No one will talk about what goes on in Grownup Kindergarten. If you've been itching for a good tantrum, here's the place to do it. The kind people will come and soothe you, and no one will call Human Resources to speak to you in euphemisms and send you to a counselor.

Human life seems to contain this drive, this whispering urge, to always take on just a little more than you can successfully handle. I don't know why this is; maybe they get bored. It's vigorously enforced, though: for the smart kid who decides to work in the video store, for the happy couple who doesn't want kids, for the person who turns down a promotion because it would mean working an extra 20 hours a week, there is always the judgment that they are deficient somehow - they're "underachievers." I don't know who decided that you are not allowed to say, "That's enough, thanks," but there must be a way out. (It's interesting to note that we have "underachievers," and "overachievers," as though you can only be wrong about "achieving.")

Grownup Kindergarten is, of course, not a solution. It's just a temporary escape. But maybe a few days a year spent coloring and memorizing the alphabet and having snack time will remind us of that ideal of the happy, serene grownup. Maybe this will be the seed of the Stop Trying To Do Everything At Once Revolution. Join me, brothers and sisters in well matched to one's abilities and desires achievement! Please put your donations for the crayons and big paper fund in the hat, and pass it on.

Posted by hilatron at July 3, 2003 11:52 AM