I'm tired of working. I'm sick of paying bills. I'm fed up with being an adult.
Sure, I'm *only* 26, and I've barely been in the workforce for a decade, and I've just now entered my professional field in my career. But, if anything, that should tell you how fed up I am with the 9-5 grind.
I've never actually wanted to be an adult. Even as a kid, I had no desire to grow up. I wasn't too childish for my age—I was actually rather mature, so I'm told. So it wasn't like I was actively running from adulthood; I just wasn't looking forward to it.
The idea of being an adult didn't seem fun to me. My parents were transparent with us. Growing up, they'd tell us that we were on a budget, that they had bills to pay, and that money didn't grow on trees. I knew my parents went to work Monday through Friday, and some days on the weekend. I knew they went to work sleepy and came home tired. I knew they dressed up and straightened their backs to be Black professionals in corporate America. Few things about this seemed nobel, and none of it seemed fun.
There was one thing, however, that attracted me to adulthood: coffee.
Every morning, my parents poured each other a tall cup of joe. My mom would put two creams and two Splendas in her cup, and my dad would drink his black. It would fill the house with the soothing scent of hickory and hazelnut. And what made it even better: it was forbidden.
Kids weren't allowed to have coffee in my house. We were rarely even allowed to have pop. But that didn't stop my sister and I from begging our parents to let us have a taste. We both liked hot chocolate and figured that coffee tasted something similar to that. Of course, our parents assured us that we were wrong. They said coffee was for adults and gave them energy to stay awake in the mornings. That sounded great to me and my sis. Energy on top of energy? Sign us up.
My mom called our bluff. She was smart about it—she made us work for it:
"I'll let you two drink coffee if you give a presentation about the health benefits."
Y'all, this woman literally made my sis and I do a research paper on coffee! Of course, my sis and I procrastinated for a while (what kind of kid wants to do voluntary homework?) but we finally did it with the help of PowerPoint and Wikipedia.
Finally, the time had come for us to taste the long-coveted cup of coffee. My mom poured us each a medicine cup full of fresh, black coffee from the pot, and when it cooled, Reyna and I took a sip...and it was disgusting.
All of that hard work, studying, practice, time put in—all of that just to leave with a bitter taste in my mouth.
This is the foundation for how I feel about adulthood.
It was never something I wanted entirely, but the parts I did want were within my reach. I was told that if I worked hard enough, I could have as much of the nice things as I wanted. So I worked and worked and worked. I presented my findings to the world to prove I was worth it, that I was worthy of the things I strived to gain. And when I finally achieved my dreams, they were hollow.
This is true for every area of my life: my job doesn't feel as great as it used to, and they certainly don't pay me enough to do the work I do, living in Chicago has proven to be more expensive and isolating than I ever thought it would be, health is not synonymous with youth and I never foresaw wrestling with my health the way I have in my adult years, and on and on...
I guess I thought life would be sweeter than it really is. Or maybe life should be better than this? I don't know. Maybe it's one of those things; maybe it's both.
I vented to my dad about life's woes and how I'm struggling to stay afloat. I expressed how tired I am of everything: work, health challenges, financial struggles—everything. If I remember correctly, I said something along the lines of, "I"m tired of working, being exhausted, and being poor."
And, just like that, my dad hopped into "Dad Mode" in time for Father's Day. He began:
"I agree with everything you've told me, except for one thing: you're not poor. You've never been poor. You've always been surrounded by people who loved you and took care of you. With that, you'll never be poor."
Leave it to Dad.
He's right. Though things haven't been easy, I still have yet to hit the depths of rock bottom. Because of my support system—my family, friends, mentors—I'll never truly be poor. I've got them to fill me with the love and light I need to tackle this whole life thing. It doesn't make life any easier, it just doesn't make it harder.
And, in hindsight, my mother did the right thing, too. She didn't give us coffee that had been doctored up with sugar and flavor. She gave us good ole black coffee, as dark and bitter as it is. She wanted to repel my sis and I away from the things we were too young to understand fully. We saw coffee, this magic drink that keeps you awake and gives you energy. She and my dad saw coffee, an addictive drink they're forced to cling to each morning just to wake up and pretend to have energy. Though she taught me what disappointment felt like on a small scale, she also saved us from jumping into the perils of adulthood before we were ready, also done on a small scale. And I have to say, she was right.
But, now that I'm an adult, and understand the gravity of drinking coffee, the gravity of living each day, whether I take it black or with sugar, I now know this...
I've concluded that life is like a cup of coffee: it comes bitter, but is made as sweet as we want it to be.
I've gotta add the cream and sugar to my life if I want it to be sweeter. I've gotta cherish every small thing that brightens my day, and keep from adding things to my cup that will make it taste even more bitter. I've gotta do all I can to make that cup of coffee the best thing I've ever tasted. And, I've gotta learn when to pinch my nose and drink it straight, even when it's bitter and I have not one grain of sugar or drop of cream to make things better. At the end of the day, I didn't have to have a cup of coffee to begin with, so I've gotta remind myself that it's a blessing to have coffee to drink, no matter how bitter it may be.
So yes I'm tired and fed up and sick of the way life has been going lately, but at least I'm not poor; at least I have a cup of coffee to spare.
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