The idea of maturity has been buzzing around in my head for ages. What defines it? Who defines it? When are we considered mature? Mature for what? What if we don't consider ourselves mature, enough? Enough for what?
In the end, it doesn't matter. Because, like everything else, it's all relative. We've heard, 'you're mature for your age', 'you're not mature enough', 'when you mature a little more', etc. Really?
In going through my 30 years of belongings, recalling memories, trying to hold on to emotions, etc, I feel I have hit a level of some kind of maturity that I was seeking. Some kind of a 'don't care' attitude. I have had to make a conscious effort to give up the idea that I'm giving something up and losing my identity. Not only with all the belongings I have to get rid of, not before taking pictures of everything, but also the idea that I'm giving up my precious radio stations, my bedroom, my family, driving in my car, etc. But, it's okay because I'm gaining other comfort-zones, other little pleasures that I can't get anywhere else. Like, fresh exotic fruits, another family I can trust, more friends I can rely on, running in the foothills of the Andes, Lo Saldes!!
As a good friend once told me, your old coat that you wear everyday might be nice and cozy, but it's time to change it up for a new one and create more memories. That is exactly what I am doing.
Thank you very much for reading my first post, I hope it wasn't too boring. I suppose I'll never be mature in the social context but I do enjoy challenging social boundaries anyway.
E
My old jewelery box:
