Beep, beep, beep.
Blissful dreams become distant memories. My eyes open to a symphony of earth moving and destruction. I drag myself out of bed, groggy and groaning, because those sounds will continue well into the evening and I’m powerless to stop them.
Don’t even get me started on how Alejandra feels about this!
They’re building a new parking garage catty-corner to our apartment. There’s a beer and pizza joint that’s absolutely bursting at the seams. They can’t accommodate the vortex of hipsters and vehicular traffic. Come visit sometime. When you do, we’ll go to the pizza place and I’ll do my best to convince you to order the Armadillo. Trust me.
This construction has been a constant companion during my workdays. Most of the time I can tune it out. But on the worst days, the devilish beeping has me wound as tight as a spring. Combine that with the nearby daycare, and you have the perfect recipe for one stressed out writer.
Maybe they’ll finish the parking garbage before we move out. Maybe not. Regardless, it won’t be long before we run into the next highway being widened, apartment complex being built, or old Victorian being renovated.
As much as I love complaining about all this, that isn’t the purpose of this post. All the construction happening here in town got me thinking.
Yes, places change and grow. There’s always some type of construction happening.
But what about people?
I had this notion growing up that adults had everything figured out. As childhood wonder turned to adolescent angst, parental certainty remained a constant. Part of me couldn’t wait to grow up because then, I, too could have all the answers.
Except it never happened.
I grew up, went to college, graduated. Sought real work. Somewhere along the way cashiers at Walgreen’s and grocery stores started calling me “sir.”
I wanted to shake them, whisper in their ears that I’m a liar. I still do. I walk and talk like an adult, but I feel like an impostor.
One day it hit me. Instead of continuing to wait until I magically grew up and had the answers, I could accept the fact that, in many ways, we adults are just as confused as the goth kids hanging out at Hot Topic.
We are all under construction in one way or another. Doing the best we can to get by and navigate this strange post-industrial existence. Searching for meaning and answers.
I can’t describe what a relief it is to realize that the people who truly “have it all figured out” are either: 1) imaginary, or 2) cloistered in a mountain meditating somewhere.
The strange part is how we aren’t allowed to talk about it.
Like the road crews who whisk away traffic cones under the cover of darkness, we hide our construction. Career upheavals, life crises, and broken relationships swing wrecking balls through our psyches, but all is well… so long as we maintain the appearance that everything’s going exactly as it should be.
How did we get to this point?
I wish I knew. God knows I’m an active participant in the collective delusion. People ask how you are, but do they really want to know the truth? Stray too far from “fine” or talking about the weather, and watch their reactions.
The habit is so deeply ingrained that I have to watch myself closely before the mask slips back on. But there’s freedom in the truth. Yes, it’s messy and overwhelming, and accepting the fact that you’re floating in a sea of uncertainty is scary, but there’s relief at the bottom of that. Like plunging into a cool river.
We can swim here, you and I, and live life on our own terms. After all, when none of us has it figured out, just how much authority should anyone really have when telling us how to live?
So don’t be afraid to put up those detour signs and orange flashers. Once you accept that life is constant construction—not a static, all-knowing adulthood—you empower yourself to build something beautiful… and most importantly, real.
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