To: Friends, Comrades, Family, and the Lovely Peoples of the World;
— From: M. R. Framboise
Good Afternoon everybody!
Y'know it is rather uncommon for me to address people from nearly every domain of my life simultaneously; however, I believe that this is an apt time to do just that. This being said, the question remains of why I am writing to you and interrupting your regularly-scheduled "doomscrolling." To put it simply: recently, I've had quite a few thoughts on "adulting" and what exactly it means to be an adult, and I thought that writing to you all would be a good exercise in exploring the concept. As an important sidenote, please forgive any typographical errors, for I am still learning this typewriter and working without a "backspace" key is quite the novel experience. Anyways, my central point is a simple one— that the experience of "daring to struggle" need not be exclusively applied to the political domain. It is unversal and certainly of great importance in the realm of "adulting." I would even go as far as to say that at its core, adulting is "daring to struggle" taken in its most personal-developmental aspect.
By this point, all who know me are familiar with my taste for abstraction, so for a moment let us set that aside. What does "adulting" look like materially— in one's actual life? Well, say that there is a certain university (who shall remain unnamed), and that this university has elected to inform a student (with rather short notice) that they are scheduled to relocate from summer housing to fall housing with all deliberate speed. I will say in full honesty that this was— in the moment— quite the distressing situation. It was also, however, a genuinely eye-opening experience in terms of what "adulting" really means. While I certainly cannot say that I was not frustrated, nor can I say that I did not request and recieve help; what can be said is that the issue was rectified.
I spoke with the appropriate officials, my friends, and my family, and I was ultimately able to make a plan to move out in the appropriate time. It was in this situation that my father bestowed one of his many great maxims upon me, that one must "make room for other people's ineptitude." On its face, well it's quite funny as are many of his "bits of wisdom." Taken in another aspect, however, it almost feels like the rallying cry of younger adults the world over (or truthfully, all adults). In a certain sense, it almost resembles a form of "struggle"— a form of working with, through, and beyond some unfortunate circumstance to attain a type of "victory." If we may generalize this concept beyond other people's ineptitude and into that of our entire interconnected communities— including ourselves— we may begin to approach a suitable conception of "adulting" itself. I think we may find that "making room" for imperfection— for the necessity of struggling through things— is the kernel of what "adulting" really is.
All of this being said, I think— and I hope that you'd agree— that we would be remiss if we neglected to mention the forces that may pull us in a backwards direction— those forces that compel us against struggle. In the political realm, these are simple. They are the numerous cultural, economic, and otherwise socio-political forces that pull us toward complacency. In the realm of the personal— of "adulting"— however, these forces may prove more difficult to spot. On a personal level, these are the forces of procrastination, numbness, and the sort of "imposter syndrome" that— as isolating as it certainly feels— seems to be a nigh-universal experience of young adult hood (and life in general from what I am told). In full candor, I am not particularly interested in exploring these forces in detail; however, I am deeply interested in what they look like practically— on the ordinary Wednesday afternoon. From there, we may ask how combatting these forces genuinely appears. It could be argued that on the ordinary Wednesday afternoon, these "anti-adulting" forces are simply represented by markers that I would say I embody far too frequently. In the general aspect, they could be described as "not doing what one knows must be done," or as a more general complacency.
In this specific moment, we could describe the as the untidy room, unpacked boxes, unfinished homework, and a general lacking in "put-together"-ness. But with all of this said, I still would not reach towards despair or self-flagellation. Firstly, because of what a paralyzing and unhelpful feeling that is— a feeling that would only hinder my ability to rectify the situation farther; and secondly, because I know— at some fundamental level— that affliction by the natural forces of backwardness does not univerally negate all of the great progress made over the last year.
Now of course, we musn't allow this lack of despair to fester into rabid contentment. It should— like all good challenges— be a motivating engine of change. Truthfully, I have always struggled to translate my knowledge of an issue into concrete action, but I suppose that this too is a process. And I would further posit that— as previously stated— I must make room for my own shortcomings as well as those of others.
So with all of this in mind, what does "daring to struggle" look like at this scale? Well, it looks like make those necessary phone calls, setting up that appointment, catching the bus on time, and packing the unpacked boxes. It looks like asking for help, apologizing, and making a firm and conrete commitment to moving forward. Daring does not always look or feel triumphant— though helpful when it does— but personally, I think that there is something almost beautiful to the unglamorous struggle than to the glamorous. I suppose thhat one could say that life is a "long march."
As a closing note, allow me to return to the addressee to whom we first began writing. To the friends, comrades, family, and lovely peoples of the world; though let us add one more person of interest. To the person who entered this world nineteen years ago— the person who has dared to struggle since before she could even articulate the words. To that person, to the misbehaving first-grader of 2013, the pathologized "organizer-patient" of Cedar Ridge Behavioral Hospital in 2022, the scared child of every femtosecond in-between, and to the writer of ninety minutes ago who claimed that she would begin packing her boxes and working on her schoolwork: you are okay. You are okay, and you will be okay. This struggle is what "adulting" is. And as you know so well that you could say it across languages and continents; from D.C. to Dakar and New Orleans through Paris— that "if you dare to struggle, you dare to win, and if you don't dare to struggle, then damnit, you don't deserve to win." Now get your favorite soft-drink, and I'll pick up where you left off on packing.
With Love & Struggle,
M. R. Framboise
Ozé Débat! Ozé Shinyé
