New Adulting

Starting somewhere and learning to be ok

Here is the first of the promised biographical sketches. We have to start somewhere. I thought this might be an appropriate place to start given that in this narrative I’m reminiscing about my clumsy navigation of “new adulthood.” Here I was embarking on a naval career and a college career simultaneously, and now in 2024 I’m on the cusp of a Master’s degree in Library and Information Science. Does life go in a straight line for anyone? For me, it never did. The road from A to Z continues to be one that is full of backward and forward steps, tripping up, getting back up, circling back sometimes, getting over bumps, and occasionally breathing a sigh of relief when the road is smooth! The following sketch, according to Google Docs word count, is 2,583 words. It’s not required reading and there won’t be a test at the end. What’s the point? Well, in the grand scheme of life, perhaps it’s just another thing for which we ask that question: What is the point of anyone sharing his or her story, be it to learn, empathize and connect? People often have ideas about what things are like, and I’ve found in my own experiences that I sometimes feel discomfited when “what things are like” ends up drastically at variance from those preconceived notions. I’ve encountered this variance on enough occasions to teach me to avoid harboring expectations—of situations, yes, but also of people in general.

I can’t even remember how old I was. 18, 19. Who knows? Barely old enough to vote, too young to buy a case of beer. (I never went to the trouble of getting a fake ID. I would not have thought, nor had the confidence, let alone the inclination to do such a thing.) And there was no question of ‘passing’ for 21 on looks alone, because for as long as I can remember I’ve had a baby face that makes me look about ten years younger than I am. When I told people I was in the Navy, they were always like, “Wait? What? I thought you were high school!” Even now, in my 40s, I don’t “appear” as anyone’s idea of a Navy veteran, and most people wonder if I’m in Gen Z, again, a reminder of preconceived notions at variance from “what things are like!”) Anyway, however old I was, 18 or 19, I was an “airman” at the Naval Air Station Willow Grove in Pennsylvania. (Here again, another example of “what things are like”—an “airman” in the navy, not a “seaman,” and based inland rather than by the sea.) I’m sure if I really thought about it, I could pinpoint the year, and by calculating the number of months from my completion of A School¹ training, could then tell you my exact rank and pay grade at the time. But it doesn’t matter. Whether I was an E-2 or E-3 is hardly the point. The reason I’m thinking about that time in my life now is more to do with its relevance to what’s going on now.