I don’t think I’ve ever thought about how mature or immature I am compared to other people.
I had a conversation with someone the other day, and they brought up how they feel more mature than everyone around her. That got me thinking.
Never in my life have I thought myself having a different level of maturity than another human being. I think your maturity is invisible to yourself.
I don’t think a person can gauge their level of maturity. I can own up to my mistakes and I can admit to my lack of knowledge in certain areas, and that might make me mature in that regard, but then I go ahead and laugh with my friends when they say, “tweeny-wan” and, “deez nutz.” I don’t know where I land in the maturity spectrum if there is such a thing.
I have extended family members and elderly ladies tell me how I am such a mature young man, so I guess I can take their word for it. Besides, Aunt Elizabeth and wrinkly, white-haired old ladies have no reason to lie.
Telling how mature someone feels to me like it’s very Truman Show-esque. Everyone is watching, and they know everything about you. You, meanwhile, are blinded and immersed in your own ignorance.
And who decides what maturity looks like? I watch professional wrestling. That’s not very mature by today’s standards, but I pay taxes dammit! I don’t budget my money well, but my credit score is in the mid-700’s. I make on-time payments, but Charlotte’s Web will undoubtedly make me cry. I have a strong work ethic, but I can recite lines from SpongeBob by heart.
I just find the idea of maturity very weird. Where is the line drawn between being mature and immature? I could not tell you. That’s why you have to listen to Aunt Elizabeth when she calls you a mature young man, or lady.
And just to fuck with her say, “I know you are, but what am I?”