Responsibility, Again

Had my first visitors, per se, this past week. My parents! They stayed 1 week, which is 3 more days than my usual limit. I was sad (as opposed to relieved) to see them go. And in true self-alienating fashion, I got a dash misty per my usual post-2003 emotionality. I took the bus/train back from the airport, which took maybe 2 hours because the NY Marathon required us to take a detour into the Bronx. During this time, my disheveled person slept, brainstormed, and gave thought to my sadness.

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For about 15 minutes I thought it was the dawn of a new era of maturity (read: nasty oldness) in my life, in which I could actually enjoy my parents as people. Then I thought it was instead a reflection of grave immaturity, wanting to forever have the role of daughter/child, rather than self-sufficient adult. With my parents around, I get to assume that role, indulgently and conveniently escaping what feels like the crushing burdens of working life and adulthood. (N.B. I think this is also partly why I turned to my parents after having that bad week at work--desire to re-enter the cocoon of childhood and have the feeling that the realities of my life are not reality at all, but mere dalliances without any real significance). I was going to offer a third theory, but the more I write about the 2nd theory re: the eternal child, the more I think it is spot-on. For posterity's sake, I'll advance the third: it is an indication that I am missing people more than I realize. This is true, I'm sure, and in fact, I think I realize how much I miss people. So that theory can be disposed of quite readily.

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The important nugget to glean is the following: I see now with pristine clarity that what I enjoyed about my parents' visit was their enormous capacity to allow me the freedom to feel unresponsible. As much as I worry about them, they still manage to give me that luxury. Wearing a suit, for example, loses all importance when worn in the presence of my parents. It becomes a silly and unnecessary costume. "All that fuss," as my mom said. The perspective they give me on the idiocy of my job is much-needed and refreshing, but even more precious is the sense that my entire foray into the working world period, with all its misery and obligation, is pure recreation on my part, rather than a necessity. I was sad to see them go and to know that with them went my footloose and fancy-free psyche. Back to adult professional workhorse, for as long as I can stand it.