Don't Grow Up, It's a Trap

The ominous opera generated by the train filled the car. I looked over to a tag perched on a young ladie's backpack. It read: Don’t Grow Up, it’s a trap. It definitely struck me as humorous. The irony that I was on my way to work, wasn’t lost on me. The sea of adulthood swallows you whole. You’ll be lucky enough to have the fate of Jonah. Spit out into the beach. As if on queue, a man meekly admonishes the car for assistance. He receives some sustenance in the form of pretzels. A whopping $2 is the group’s contribution. I never carry cash. A strong scent of mothballs and musk permeates the car. His nails are dark underneath. He saunters to and fro in stained pants and dingy shoes. This man has deep sea dived into the depths of adulthood. Some of us just tread water. Some are spit onto the beach thanks to the monsters of the sea. They enjoy the sunlight; it’s their “privilege.” Some— like our pretzel bandit— need an oxygen tank for how low they’re going to sink.

But who’s to blame for this rigged game? Who’s running this Ocean’s Eleven heist? And where the fuck is George Clooney when you need him?! Answers that’ll never reach me. I just know someone’s counting cards, and it ain’t me. I know this is part of someone's plans or specs, but the architect of this grand design is rather hard to point out. Whether its God's Plan like Drake says or D'evils, who's to say. Better men than I have debated the subject.

Regular adulting is hard. Under normal circumstances: I'm a hustler, a father, a friend, a part-time lover, and one bill payin’ mu-fucka. Add on top of that, we’re in a pandemic and it's an election year. The layers are dizzying. I don’t know about you but I’m tired just thinking about it. I feel ill-prepared for this part of my life. And Heather definitely did her parental duty. It’s just— I feel overwhelmed by my own to-do list. I’m sure this is a shared feeling. So if we’ve all had this feeling, at one time or another, maybe somethings wrong with the system? The collective? Capitalism? America?

This is my stop. "Stand clear of the closing doors please" is the train's goodbye. I transcend the steps. To trade time for dollars; the finite for the infinite.