My to-do list is crushing me,
And I miss my mom.
People talk about coming of age-
It's so beautiful, a wondrous time to be alive-
But what happens after is sadness and empty and suddenly,
No one's interested in your philosophies or your dreams or your feelings.
People come of age, and then meld into line, and you can't help but relate to that one John Mayor song-
Something about a train.
When you're little you see teenagers driving fast
You see women smoking on the street
You see men slamming their car doors with faraway looks in their eyes
And you turn to your parents and you tell them with confidence:
"I will never grow up like those bad teenagers, mommy."
Coming of age seems so slow when you're right smack-dab in the middle of it-
You learn that setting goals for yourself involves looking at the middle of the journey, not just the end;
You realize that some days are just too difficult to get through without a muffin the size of your problems and that gaping hole in your heart;
You notice your mother, your father, your sister, your brother,
They're getting older, and you're still so busy, too busy to talk.
Coming of age is exactly, exactly like diving into a pool and seeing how far you can go underwater.
You plunge, your breath still new in your lungs
Every movement a drag, every inch impatient
Until you come up for the first time and look back to find that you've covered more distance than you could have possibly guessed,
And you had no idea, the whole time you were moving so fast and didn't appreciate a damn thing along the way.
You make excuses first.
How could you have known?
No one warned you about this, you were just so busy and no one took the time to explain, to make you understand.
How could you have seen?
Your eyes were shut tight against the current, your senses flooded, no time no energy no way to have realized
What you left behind in the broiling aftermath of your strong, naive front crawl.
But you know it's your problem, just like everything else is now-
Money and work and lonely doctor's appointments-
You're mature and you know it's just life,
You know you can't just stop it,
But that doesn't stop you from driving faster on the highway
Doesn't stop you from rolling down the window all the way
Because even though the ripping roar of the wind drowns out the radio,
It's so much easier to bear than the silence of being shut into a metal and glass coffin
Going sixty-six on the interstate.
Right now I'm looking back at the spot where I dove in.
I can't catch my breath, I've been moving so fast.
I'm driving with my windows down and I've cried too much to feel ashamed of it
And my to-do list is never finished
And when was the last time
I hugged my mom?