Sunday, August 23, 2015

Permission Slip

Tomorrow, Jeremy and I are leaving Korea. It's been a lovely two years and it's time to move onto other things. Don't ask me what other things (oh please, oh please don't ask me)I have no idea. It's just time. So here we go.

And we're embarking on a month-long vacation through China, Thailand, Cambodia, and Indonesia.
By plane.
And train.
And boat.
And bus.
By ourselves.
Without adult supervision.

Is this allowed?

I still feel like--in moments like this--I need a permission slip from my parents to do things we're doing.

Not because we're doing anything scandalous.
Not because my parents were unnecessarily protective.
But because time and time again, I forget that I'm 27 years-old.
That I'm the adult now.
And sometimes it's terrifying.

Because I grew up with the sense that I could never get into too much trouble, because there was always someone close-by to help me out: a parent, a teacher, a pastor, a mentor, or a counselor. And how blessed I've been to have people like that supporting me along the way. And it's not as though they all dropped off the map, but I suppose, I just needed them less and they gave me room to explore.

But now that I've explored myself to the other side of the world where there are
different languages
and culture
and currencies
and airline miles
and health insurance
and marriage
and visa renewals
and mammograms
and credit cards,
I just want to announce myself as the fraud that I am:

I'm not a real adult!
I'm just pretending to be one.

And it's like I'm waiting for someone else to give me permission.
That it's okay to make these hard, day-to-day decisions.
When really, this is it.
This is all the permission I need.

Go, child.

That last one is my favorite:

"Dear 91 year-old, Don't listen to other people's advice. Nobody knows what the hell they're doin'."

When my parents were 27, they didn't know what they were doing either. That's comforting.
We're all just doing the best we can.

Grace for each other.
Grace for ourselves.