Becoming a Woman

I remember the first time I felt like an adult. It wasn't at my confirmation, when I achieved menarche, or upon graduating from college. Adulthood was not a spiritual, physical or intellectual revelation for me. No, adulthood was commercial. The first time I remember feeling like a true adult was when I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond and bought a set of plates for myself.

I was living alone for the first time in a little studio apartment. The converted garage came furnished, but sans kitchenware. My mother let me take some items from home – old pots and pans, even some silverware and plates – but after several years, I wanted an upgrade. No more family hand-me-downs destined for the Salvation Army. So I ventured to BB&B and spent 30 minutes poring over the in-store selection. I ended up buying colorful plates painted with fish. They were the type of thing one might have seen in a magazine feature in the mid-nineties about throwing a beach-themed party, but to me they were a symbol of life on my own. I picked them, I paid for them and I would eat off of them for the rest of my life. Well, at least until I outgrew them about four years later.

To my surprise, I recently experienced this phenomenon again. (Who knew that one could still discover adulthood in her forties?) Once again, my adult feeling came from the world of commerce. After having guests in my house, I realized how shabby my Softsoap dispenser must have looked with its logo splayed across the front and peach-colored plastic pump, which did not tie in to the bathroom's olive green color scheme at all. Again, I decided to upgrade. I went to Target and picked out a dispenser that matched the brushed steel bathroom fixtures. Suddenly the room seemed more pulled together, which made me feel more adult because suddenly I was the sort of person with a pulled together half-bath. If that isn't adult, I don't know what is.

I could speculate that this kind of thinking (personal validation from material acquisition) is what gets so many people into debt. I could lament that for many people education, belief systems and life skills seem to pale in comparison to common household goods. I could be mortified to find myself among them. (I am - mortified, that is, as well as among them). But I also choose to marvel that adulthood can be bought for $6.99 in the form of a soap dispenser. Not too shabby.