Maturity, or the lack thereof

In my daily work, the majority of my colleagues are older than me, some by decades. Some of them have been working here since I was in diapers.

Yet, of course I am expected to behave at the same level of maturity that they do. It is sometimes fascinating to me, and sometimes disturbing, when someone with silver hair who could be my grandmother, comes into my office to ask me a question with full confidence that I will know the answer.

It's not just a workplace thing. Now that I am legally a grown-up -- and have been for some time -- it's as if I have joined a club, all of whose members, whether they are 25, 55 or 85, expect certain standards of each other and even pretend to the fiction that we are at something of the same level of general competence or mental acuity.

But looking back over the months and years of my life, I cringe at things I did six months ago, as well as six years ago. There are times when my brain could not comprehend something, or I acted a certain way -- and yet, just a short time later, the light clicked on and I recognized that I have matured just a little bit more since then.

The process, I think, will proceed at its own pace, no matter how much I might wish to kick it into overdrive. I might flatter myself to think that I am quite mature for my age -- but check back with me in a few months and the me that is then will disagree mightily with the verdict of the me that is now.