I was walking through one of the smallest malls I’ve ever been in today. I was on my way back from picking up a new pair of running shoes when I thought to myself, “What the hell, why not.” I doubled back to the entrance and walked around. I saw the familiar assembly of establishments which define human creativity and culture: Claire’s, Victoria’s Secret, Game Stop, etc. All of those stores were quite expected. What I didn’t expect was the mix of feelings I’d have as I walked past this store called Pottery Barn.

The store is fairly unremarkable and quite like many others in its niche: Home furnishings, silver (or perhaps stainless steel) cutlery, the general beige tint which accompanies the refreshing smell of (semi)newly cut wood. However, as I walked by it occurred to me that in my current state of being I would not give this store more than a passing glance. This is partly logical as I do not currently own any form of home. However, as I continued to explore different parts of the mall, I nevertheless continued to feel this strange set of feelings as I encountered several other stores, such as a tuxedo shop, a few miscellaneous jewelery stores, vender stalls with “personalized” accessories and even an “assorted pens” shop.

What exactly am I feeling?

I am starting to show my age just as billions have before me. I recognize that in centuries past, I would be considered an older man. And yet, I still have no desire to own a tuxedo, a Movado watch, a skull lighter, or a stylish pen. Of course, some would say “to each either own”. Perhaps these symbols are the ends to the ambitious and spirited means we’re supposed to foster in our youth. And then, maybe these physical items are only epistemic manifestations of the mundane experiences indispensable from a full and “whole” life. Then again, perhaps the roots lie in cultural awkwardness on my part. Am I so removed from the grain of the American existence that I can’t see the value in these trinkets and symbols of style? Beyond a certain presentable quality, I don’t seem to have ever cared about my image.

Regardless of their meaning, I believe these feelings are part of my sub-conscience playing out my own desire to fit in, to have what I’m supposed to have and to do what I am supposed to do in this life. When will I finally act? When does the time come for a man to realize that he is now one of these mythological beings called adults which roam the cities and streets of Earth? Does it come from owning a home, getting married, or simply making the decision to finally own some of these trinkets and status symbols?

When am I considered grown up?