About ten years ago, my absolute greatest fear was responsibility.
I was a twenty-one year old college junior. I was a year from graduation, and I had absolutely no clue what sort of job I wanted to have after that. Mostly because I didn't want a job at all.
A lot of this aversion had to do with my fear of paperwork. I was not good with forms—at all. I didn't want to deal with insurance, or taxes, or mortgages, or auto titles. I just wanted to travel the world, drifting across borders with the wind.
The uncertainty of not knowing what country I'd end up sleeping in that night seemed a lot more manageable than the stress of keeping all those payments and documents and tax ID numbers straight. (Nobody tell me that my wife and I would end up owning our own business).
Admittedly, that was a huge overreaction. A couple in-depth study sessions and some explanations cleared much of that up.
Every once in a while, though, it's easy for me to feel like I'm just sort of playing at being an adult.
It doesn't help that I still enjoy punk rock and video games as much as I did as a teenager, or that I spend most of my days writing about music or movies, or that I set my own schedule (read: I don't get out of bed till ten).
At the same time, I own my own home—in a nice neighborhood too. I pay my bills. Just last week, my wife and I made a plan to pay off all of our credit card and student loan debt within the next year. That's some serious grownup stuff.
But every once in while, I find some clues to my perpetual adolescence. Like, when I forget to feed myself all day (oh, that's what I forgot today). Or when I add one more piece of mail to the stack of recall notices...for the same airbag issue. Or when I stay up past midnight writing on my blog while listening to ska punk (like, literally right now).
And it certainly doesn't help that I'm pretty sure about half of my neighbors think I'm unemployed. Which is natural: I dress almost exclusively in t-shirts, I have long enough hair to make any interviewer think twice about hiring me, and my car (an old conversion van) is parked in front of my house most of the time—unless I'm loading amps and drums into it.
But at the end of the day, the freedom to live like an immature teenager is why I started working for myself in the first place. And if it comes with the occasional, fleeting bout of self-doubt, it's still worth it.