The Anklebiter

I’m discovering more and more these days that it’s impossible for one to ever truly grow up; all throughout life you find touchy sods who are so obsessed with adulthood and coming of age that they completely cast off their juvenile self as useless growth baggage in favour of a more mature approach to life. You ever felt like your parents banging on and on about finally growing up sounds just a little bit hypocritical?

I’m twenty-one this year, and I know I’m certainly not completely extricated from the youngster lifestyle. Granted, I’m in a serious committed relationship, I have a reasonably well-paying job, I’m at the end of a three-year undergraduate degree and I have a partial career future mapped out as a life goal, so I’m obviously not so entirely wrapped up in the adolescent mindset. Conversely, I read Batman and X-Men comics, when I’m not doing uni assignments I’m usually playing Xbox, one of my favourite movies is and always will be the original Disney version of Aladdin, and I have a small cache of Nerf guns standing proud on my bookshelf amongst all my science fiction literature.
I’ve arrived at a point in my development where it’s become clear that I need a plan; shambling along haphazardly as I have done for the past ten years of high school and university isn’t going to cut it anymore. One of my biggest fears going into this semester was that such a move would mean discarding that undisciplined part of my psyche in favour of a more adult lifestyle. This is something I wasn’t keen to do, since a lot of my young-at-heart characteristics are what make me, me.
Fortunately, it appears that part of the ritual of growing up doesn’t necessarily have to include mental sepukku; a large portion of really good people I work with have shown themselves to sometimes be just as childish and fun-loving as I can be, which is gratifying. This may seem like an obvious thing to point out to most of you, that keeping your inner child is something taken as read, and that may well be the case. But I find enjoyment in writing this down, even if in the end it really says nothing at all.
And honestly, do you think I’d ever really stop reading Batman comics?

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