Maturity is something which I have tried so hard to display, because I believe in it and because I believe our society could use some more of it, but I’ve come to realize and must admit that I am not actually mature. I suppose am mature to some extent of course, but the level of maturity which I so ardently desire to wear on my sleeve isn’t the reality of my soul. I’m not even close. I often forget, since I am so much isolated from those whom I love, that maturity is borne out of consideration for others; essentially, maturity is respect and love for oneself and the rest of the world. I’m desperately lacking both. I have a hard time letting God love me, but I don’t wish to explicate that right now, and therefore I have a hard time expressing and receiving, even feeling love. I am referring to agape love.
Alongside my struggle to let God in and let go of the fear that squashes my ability to love, I will continue to make steps toward walking the maturity walk, not just talking the talk and wearing the t-shirt. It’s a fine balance, loving oneself enough to not sweat the small stuff, but still having the discipline to daily keep oneself emotionally controlled, house neat and clean, beds made, bills paid, and so forth. I am as yet not certain how to achieve this balance. I have high standards, which I continue to uphold, but my process of keeping the standards can be self-destructive.
I’m very good at looking the part. I dress conservatively and modestly, rather like my fifth grade teacher, except for her ABC-pencil-apple sweaters. I don’t (usually!) text while walking in the street, or chat loudly on the phone in public. For a time, I even refused to listen to music with earbuds during my commute, and looked askance at my fellow passengers who did. How adolescent! I scoffed in my mind. When I caved in to my desire to have classical radio accompany me to work, I chastised myself severely, and fought it out inside. Such a silly thing to get hung up about. It is just causing consternation in my spirit.
Among my coworkers, I have made no secret of my disdain for pop culture and my refusal to participate in scandalous or childish break-room chatter. I huffily declined every invitation to go out after work. The principles behind the behavior will not change- I still dislike pop culture, vulgar talk and “hanging out” with this particular group of coworkers. What needs to change is my “too-good-for-this” posturing and “huffiness.” I’m a big sour puss, and it’s probably not doing anything to further the cause of Jesus. They should know we are Christians by our love, not our snobbery. And I’m certainly not having any fun in life. No joy in that attitude.
I have seen the movie Ratatouille so many times now, that the first analog which comes to mind is Anton Ego. In the world of “all that is right and proper,” I am Thérèse Ego. Most of the “dialogue” is in my head, but some of it pops out of me, and the attitude is certainly displayed in my behavior. It’s not true maturity, and it will soon turn to bitterness or implode into a black hole of depression. I’ve already got a problem with depression and anxiety. Discipline is not micro-management. Humility is not self-deprecation, and maturity is not self-righteousness.
