Face it: you’re boring now.
You hear words coming out of your own mouth that would have made you roll your eyes and groan just a few short years ago. You’re basically one step away from telling kids to get off your lawn. You’ve even developed a taste for prunes and oatmeal.
Alright, so maybe it’s not that bad, but I’ve been startled to discover that previously boring subjects have suddenly become interesting to me. Although transitions always feel awkward, I’m finding that I don’t mind these changes so much.
1. You get excited about home improvements.
Sure, the financial aspect of maintaining a home gets stressful, and the lengthy to-do list feels overwhelming, but there’s something satisfying about caring for your own home. Buying a new couch can be fun. Even small tasks like laundry and dishes mean more because you genuinely want to create a pleasant home environment.
The exhilarating aspects of home ownership came as a shock to me because, as a kid, I barely noticed my surroundings. Cleaning my room obviously didn’t thrill me. Now that I have a house, it’s not like I keep everything tidy and clean all the time–far from it–but I do care a lot more, and I love the satisfaction of a vacuumed carpet. Weird.
2. You initiate conversations about the weather.
In high school, my mom and aunt included me on a trip to North Carolina to see the lighthouses. We toured old houses. I had my first taste of grits. (Not a fan.) During one long drive through a historic neighborhood, my mom kept telling me to look out the window. “Marie, do you see these gorgeous trees? Look at the sunset!”
I had a novel and a coloring book in the backseat and found her interruptions mildly irritating. I could not have cared less about the scenery. Now I smile on my commute to the office when I see a tree with yellow flowers or a cluster of puffy clouds. Every weekday, the receptionist and I exclaim about the temperature. That’s new.
3. You use the phrase, “Time flies!”
… or some similar expression to try to explain how you just barely got back from your honeymoon five minutes ago, and suddenly you’ve been been married three and a half years and have two cats. That time warp sensation seems to be exclusive to grown-ups.
Remember how you felt the day before your birthday when you were turning eight? You thought you’d explode with impatience because the hours lasted so interminably long. Now entire weeks go by, and when someone asks you what happened, you can’t recall.
That’s not just me, right? Does it freak you out, too?
4. You look forward to bed time.
I remember lying in my bunk bed, staring longingly at the sliver of golden light under the bedroom door. I didn’t feel the slightest bit sleepy, and I could hear my parents, sneaking their hidden stash of Milk Duds from the back of the pantry. Their world seemed a lot more glamorous than hunting for shapes in the popcorn ceiling.
As an adult, I still procrastinate, but by the time I finally lie down, it feels so good. On the other hand, I do also enjoy being the one to stay up late and eat candy sometimes.
5. You’re honestly fine with it.
You’re mostly OK with being a little boring most of the time because you actually like your life better now–at least, parts of it. Yes, you’d trade in the responsibility and stress, but think about how it felt to be a kid. Was it really stress-free? Maybe I was more intense than the average child, but I never want to move backward. I’m not afraid of so many things these days. I prefer the small amount of perspective that I’ve gained.
God loves you here.
My Junior year of college, I went on a retreat with some Freshman girls because my roommate was their RA. We sat around a campfire one night and sang a song that was new to me at the time: There’s no place I would rather be / No place I would rather be / No place I would rather be / Than here in Your love / Here in Your love.
I’ve sung that song in a lot of different phases: in the shower in Oxford, England, an ocean away from everyone who knew me. Driving away from the music building at CCU for the last time. It’s my reminder that it’s OK to be here. This stage of life; these particular struggles; these giddy moments. He loves me here, too.
You know what? Embrace the boring. Life can be pretty wonderful as an adult.
The Reluctant Bride