are you celebrating your acts of adulthood bravery?

because sometimes, we all need 5 stars for good handwriting

Good morning, cupcakes.

This edition is all about you, and all the times you’ve been brave.

Do you remember that time you were a toddler and you had plenty of brave firsts? The first time you wrote on a chalk board, or the first time you put your floaties on and tippy toed into the chilly kiddie pool?

Now my favorite part about my childhood blurry memories was how our grown ups cheered us on as we embarked on our adventures. Our small acts of bravery, like that perfect O we drew, our first day at kindergarten, or the first time riding a swing - merited celebration, smiley stickers, chocolates, or even a certification of participation.

Now here’s the thing - it’s cool being a kid, you get a ‘well done!’ for pretty much everything, and I’m not one to shy away from flattery.

Here’s another thing: all this stops when you grow up. The stars and stickers stop coming. Suddenly, you have to be the grown up to cheer yourself on.

Don’t get me wrong. As an adult, I have had plenty of brave firsts - cooking my first meal, travelling alone for the first time, well you get the gist. The only difference is that this time on, there are no stars drawn on my hand for the small achievements, and I am left to be my own cheerleader.

Now if you are well-adjusted with a high degree of confidence, cheerleading for yourself comes naturally. If you are one of these people, congrats my friend. I’m very happy for you - you’ve won the lottery. But if you are an eerie bit like me, then chances are that you have trouble celebrating your daily wins - or what I’d call small acts of adulthood bravery.

Granted, part of being an adult comes with not expecting a pat on the back for figuring the bits and bobs, like the 364545 buttons on the washing machine (why the fuck is a washing machine operation so complicated?).

But hey - if you once got 5 stars on your palm for rattling A to Z like a parrot on drugs, I bet the act of figuring out washing machine controls deserves a nod of approval at the least. So, this appreciation post is overdue - for you, for me, and all those figuring their firsts out, one frantic google search at a time. And if you relate with any of my small acts of adulthood bravery - go on, give yourself a pat on the back. You deserve it.

an ode - to all my acts of adulthood bravery, and likely yours too

dearest stuti,

good job, for the first time you learnt how to cross the road alone, and the first time you lit the matchstick on your own. you didn’t burn the house down. that was neat, eh?

good job, for the first time you bought something all alone. too bad that it was a pack of ice age stickers and not something cool, like a zoo.

good job, for all the times you took an ice cold shower, when the geyser was right there. self restraint is overrated (shudders in cold).

look ma! i’m cool.

good job, on travelling far, all alone. yes, you could have been kidnapped. yes, you could have been abducted by aliens. but you didn’t, and that means you did a good job.

good job, on getting your first eyebrow threading. i bet it made you wiggle in your seat. i promise you it gets better. okay, that was a lie. it always hurts like a bitch. but you’ll manage.

good job, on being a cactus parent. it takes a village to keep them alive. oh, and water.

good job, on learning how to put eyeliner on. it’s not on fleek yet. it will be soon.

good job, on spending your first night alone. always check for monsters under your bed.

good job, on walking through a dingy dark alley that one time. that took guts. take the scenic route next time.

good job, for the first time you had a meal all alone. the chairs feel empty, but you’ll soon realize you don’t mind it much. the same goes for movies.

good job, on growing up and learning to cheer for yourself and others. You can bet that the world needs more of that.

So there you go - ten small (yet radical) acts of adulthood bravery. tell me yours?

Cheers.

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