Dinner for Grown-ass Children

I met Mitsuru during my last year of art school. After we graduated, he worked for an architectural firm for a few years before returning to Japan. His passion has always been music, and he plays the guitar beautifully. As he readily admits, he lives like a child, wholly committed to having fun, even after becoming a parent. He hasn’t changed a bit.

The roles we play in life existed before we were born. Our parents imagined having us and named us with certain hopes and expectations. Similarly, society already had its own set of expectations for us, like speaking the language and attending school from kindergarten through high school. Even in today’s more gender-fluid society, unspoken gender expectations were projected onto us from birth. Whether we conformed to or rebelled against these norms, we operated within our options.

In my youth, I didn’t feel much pressure to behave age-appropriately, but these days I do. I imagine those who have children feel it even more acutely because they’re aware of their children’s gaze. Society expects us to behave more maturely as we grow older.

It’s not that I frequently hear criticism; rather, I’ve become more attuned to the difference in mindset between myself and others around me. As we age, it’s assumed that we should become less self-centered and more concerned with others, like passing the baton to the next generation through self-sacrifice. The archetype is more Bill Gates than Steve Jobs.

I’m not philosophically opposed to this norm, but it’s not in my nature. Like Mitsuru, I, too, am an egocentric child. Perhaps it’s part of being autistic, which might explain why autistic people often seem naïve and childlike throughout their lives. I’m not suggesting my friend is autistic, but it feels good to spend time with another grown-ass child.

Even now, when I see a friend my age driving his own car or managing a large group of people, a part of me thinks, “Wow, he is so mature,” as if I still have decades ahead of me to grow up.

At this point, I’ve resigned myself to the reality that I’ll never be mature—forever naïve and egocentric. But perhaps accepting who we truly are is a form of maturity in itself.