Never Turn 20

My roommate and I once had a discussion about when you become a person. She said it’s when you have sex. I say it’s when you learn to drive a car. Both bring on new responsibilities, new challenges, and make you grow up. Growing up, I’ve learned, isn’t all its cracked up to be. Sure new responsibilities can make you feel more mature, new challenges make you feel more prepared to take on the world but growing up only exposes you to how complex and sometimes messed up the world can be. You notice things you hadn’t before, like peoples backwards views, political leaders outrageous statements, and how truly crazy most dieting gets. Being 20, I think, is just about the worst thing I have ever done.

Being home is awkward; it’s slipping so quickly into just being a familiar place rather than the traditional “home.” Your parents often treat you the little kid you once were, expecting to know where you are, when you’ll be home, if you want dinner, what are your plans for this weekend, have you called grandma yet, have you finished all those forms, and when are you going to get yourself to the dentist!? It can be a bit of culture shock coming back from college. I’m used to being where I want when I want and only shooting my roommate a text to ask where she put the laundry detergent or if she could PLEASE buy more toilet paper.

Adults are confused by 20 year olds. Being 20 makes it seem like you should be able to take care of yourself, live on your own, get to where you need to be, while eating a healthy meal and keeping in touch with everyone that worries about you… and you can do these things! But adults still want you to know that you are not invincible, you are not in control, and you really shouldn’t come home THAT late. But what is the true difference between 20 and 25? And for that matter what is the real difference between 18 and 27? According to the law, nothing. According to the man sitting at the end of the table listening to you explain your research on an app you think would really work with the company, a lot.

Does age count as something we can put on our resumes? Does every year we live on earth get us closer to the respect we deserve? Clearly I am ranting and venting… but if I cant do that on my own blog I don’t know where I can, amiright? So many question marks, so little time.

All I know is that my friends keep turning 20 and I wish I could stop them. There is still innocence in 19 but it all sprints and jumps out the window once you hit the big two oh.

 

My advice? Wait a year. 21 will be better… right?

The Evolution of Travel

The first time I ever flew was on a family trip to Brazil when I was 3 years old. I remember very little from the trip other than eating more rice and beans than I ever knew existed, getting a flat tire on a buffalo farm, and playing in a barn full to the brim with fuzzy little chicks. I know, or have heard that the process of getting my passport picture taken was quite a struggle. I had an irrational fear of getting my picture taken. By this I mean, sitting in the photo shop (remember when those existed, ah the pre-digital age) and screaming, crying, rolling on the floor till my face turned blue, full blown tantrum. He did snap a few pictures of that which my mother proudly carries in her wallet. On that flight I guess my parents didn’t buy me a ticket, assuming I would just sit on their laps. Of course the details of the situation are lost on me however there are pictures of me curled up in a box (literally a box) that the flight attendant must have provided cuddling my teddy bear, Pinky, sleeping.  Traveling has only gotten harder since.

So if you happen to be one of the lucky 700 or so people that follow me on Instagram, you will already know that I have just spent 10 days in Italy with my family. Oh international travel and even more stressful, oh my family. My role has, of course, evolved from being the Joy- “the cute one sleeping in the box” to Joy- “the one who fixes your phone, has all the dietary restrictions, doesn’t want to see another church, and doesn’t really “get” art.” Yo, the birth of Venus was cool, okay? But one can only see so many baby Jesus paintings. I have been extremely privileged in my travel experience from my first trip to Brazil to by last trip to India and am excited to add Italy to the list.

 

Maybe it is our generations, myself included, IWWIWWIWI attitude (I want what I want when I want it) with everything… at every hour… just a click away but here is how I would sum up Italy, (and most of Europe); everything is beautiful and nothing is open. We found, especially in our country side apartment nestled in the Alps in a tiny town called Barga, about 50 minutes from Lucca, that as wonderful it is to walk around old cities and view medieval castles… if you get hungry between the hours of 1:30- 6:30 you’re out of luck and sometimes you can’t even get gas. The driving, although nothing like the horrors of India, was mind-boggling. HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF RIGHT OF WAY?! Urgh. And so many round abouts! Geez! And parking… there are spots for a reason! Double parking has never been so prevalent. Those streets were not meant for a car, and definitely had a knack for fooling our GPS and providing us with lots of almost accidents. No wonder they are all so thin, the only way to get around in on foot or bike.

What I learned: 1. In the Renaissance artists stopped painting BIG GOLDEN HALOS and started doing little ones. They also made babies look more like babies and less like full-grown adults (is that redundant?). 2. My mother has no perception of how to use a GPS. No matter how clear the blue line is, she’s constantly baffled. 3. 250 Euros is simply too much for a leather bag, no matter how beautiful, no matter how cool… but I will dream about it… until I die. 4. Gluten free is now a global trend #worlddomination. 5. Traveling with your family will never be easy, you will never all be happy at once, and this will never ever ever change.

 

Flying in a box is no longer an option but somehow I’ll manage. Never underestimate the power of a sturdy tray table or homemade ravioli, which

6. I also learned how to make… so hmu.

Kids these days…

So, I started my job as a babysitter today. It’s actually a pretty dumb job because all I actually do is pick up three kids from the Yale Corinthian Yacht Club (YCYC or “yic-yic”) sailing program and then drive them to the Lawn Club . This pool and tennis club is the most elite in New Haven.

As a “Yale Kid” (a child of a Yale Professor) I did not have either of these experiences as a child. My sister and I did Schooner programs which has little to do with sailing and more to to with playing in the mud and learning about crabs. The pool club that we remain loyal to to this day is Ridgetop– a club made for all the jewish families that we originally not allowed at the Lawn Club. The summer that these kids have seem a bit- for lack of a better word- snooty.

But, who am I to judge these kids by their parents decisions, right? Not everyone hops on a plane at age 11 and goes to Chinese immersion camp in Minnesota (5 summers- true story). The real kicker of my day was when I dropped them off.

I entered the Lawn Club parking lot and pulled up to the entrance, “Okay guys! I’ll see you tomorrow!” Edie and Sabrina began to get out when Sebastion said, “are you gonna pull out through the other entrance?” A vaild question as I know his lives close by. Edie proceeded to answer him for me though, “She has no idea where she’s going!” Well thank you little girl! What kind words to say about the cool older chick driving you home from your sticking boating school. I told Sebastian that I could OF COURSE drive him home. As we waved goodbye to the girls I joked with him, “Do you not ‘Lawn Club'” He snapped back, “Oh no, I do… but my Au Pair is at home waiting for me” Of course she was… of course she was.

So there you have it folks. Where my childhood consisted of playing in the mud  their childhood consists of sailing and swim team. I would say “different worlds” but actually we come from the same one… just different values I guess. To all you future parents out there I say- have you kids play in the mud.

 

P.S. Don’t name your kid Sebastian, either.