About two months ago, I turned twenty. The small existential crisis that followed got me thinking: What does it mean to be an adult? Frankly, I have no idea. But what I do know is that an adult who has no desire to play in a ball pit is hardly an adult worth becoming.
A bit about myself: I am the proud owner of three onesies, a horse head mask, and a squeaky rubber chicken. The last two movies I watched were Disney movies, and I have an intense love for Adventure Time. My Principles of Engineering project was born of a team love for Harry Potter. At twenty years old, I went trick-or-treating in a nearby neighborhood on Halloween. My roommate (Anne LoVerso '17) and I have covered our room with an absurd amount of posters, and on Friday nights, we host Rock Band while our neighbors (s/o to Michael Sheets '17) serve waffles shaped like Mickey Mouse. Perhaps the most important of these things, however, is that about a month ago, Anne and I impulsively purchased 1600 plastic balls so that we could have a ball pit in our room.
Some people might consider these things childish, and maybe they are. But these are the things that make me happy. Should being an adult mean giving up the things that make you happy just because they might be "childish"? Well, I suppose I can't tell you how to live your life. But I know where I stand.
Take a moment out of your day to embrace your inner child.