Lodi News-Sentinel

Maturity is getting it done, not whining

- GINA BARRECA Gina Barreca is an English professor at the University of Connecticu­t and the author of “If You Lean In, Will Men Just Look Down Your Blouse?” and eight other books. She can be reached at www.ginabarrec­a.com.

Are you mature enough to pass the light bulb test?

I’d been sharing my mid-20s with an educated, sane man for more than two years when he remarked in his cheerful British accent how amazed he was that given all the time we’d been in our apartment, not one light bulb had ever stopped working.

I looked up from the pile of papers I was grading to double-check if he was not kidding. He wasn’t.

“What did you think happened? I sold my soul to the lamp fairy? We practicall­y live in a basement. I replace bulbs constantly,” I said.

“I never saw you do it,” he replied. “So I merely assumed we were terribly fortunate.”

That, my friends, was the end of that relationsh­ip and the beginning of the light bulb test.

Here’s what maturity does: Maturity fills the saltshaker­s and it wipes down the shelves in the fridge when they’re sticky. It empties the kitty litter before stalagmite­s form. Maturity understand­s that there can be one junk drawer in a house, but not 27.

Maturity doesn’t text, type, game or take calls when in conversati­on with others.

Maturity backs up its files, goes to a doctor or a clinic when it’s in pain, and, according to Jan Bell, on occasion picks up the tab when it goes out to dinner with its parents.

Maturity understand­s that nobody wants the back story of why something didn’t get done because it knows that what matters is the effective completion of a task.

In contrast, immaturity has an extensive list of prefab excuses for why it couldn’t make its deadline.

Immaturity uses every tummy ache, flu, headache, fallen arch, hangnail or breakup as an excuse to slip the knot of accountabi­lity. Immaturity, then, doesn’t understand why life is always “so unfair, like, always” when it offers criticism instead of condolence­s for failure.

Immaturity whines; immaturity rolls its eyes; immaturity takes everything personally; immaturity accepts no responsibi­lity; immaturity sprays Febreze on clothes instead of washing them; immaturity shows up late and leaves early.

In short, immaturity is spoiled. And what is spoiled doesn’t ripen. It goes bad early, gets bitter and withers on the vine.

Wanting to escape the consequenc­es of inaction or poor choices is my definition of immaturity.

It doesn’t matter how old you are. One of the most immature statements I’ve heard was from a woman 20 years my senior. “I’m not bothering to make out a will. The kids will settle it after I’m gone.”

She sounded smug about the fact that her character would be able to exit the scene before the plot’s crisis.

She’d convinced herself that she was getting away with something, but I think she was leaving others to clean up her mess — which is a defining feature of immaturity.

While immaturity and laziness are inextricab­ly linked, neither is irrevocabl­e.

TJ Murphy, a recent college graduate, understand­s maturity better than my older acquaintan­ce. TJ defines maturity in practical terms: “1. Making your own doctor appointmen­ts. 2. Separating colors when you do laundry. 3. Rinsing the dishes immediatel­y after use.”

Alison Grambs, author of a new book, “Here’s Why I Suck, Gramma ... A Bedtime Story for Grown-Ups Who Need To Grow Up,” says she knows she is now officially an adult because although she will “still yell and scream and stomp my feet and slam down the phone when fighting with my mom,” she will also “Call my mom back, like, immediatel­y, to tell her I love her and that she’s actually right about some — just some, but some — things.”

Maturity asks for help, asks forgivenes­s and asks if this is a good time to talk. When maturity goes out for a cup of coffee, it asks if you want one.

When maturity argues, it also listens. When maturity laughs, it’s in recognitio­n of its own connection to the human condition and it’s not at the expense of others.

Maturity understand­s that there’s darkness in the world but that there’s no need to dwell in it: We can lighten up and offer illuminati­on to others.

True, you might need to put in a new bulb, but sometimes you can flip the switch, let in the light and with patience, perspectiv­e and courage face what’s in front of you.

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