a tasteless pizza, a tasteful soup

My parents are down here today; my mom has an appointment tomorrow.

They took me out for lunch at the Med, which is where we always eat. As we were waiting for our food, the conversation turned to My Life, which frequently turns into me semi-patiently attempting to explain my mind, and the world as they don't see it. It feels like the mental equivalent of swimming upstream.

Dad: "So, what classes are you taking next quarter?"
Me: "Second quarter of IS, second quarter of Hindi, Human Heredity, and.. um.. well.. an anthropology course. About............ the Incas."
Mom: "JUST DON'T major in Anthropology" (in long, nasally-whine)

She sounds so horrified here. Like I've just announced I plan to major in Common Carpet Patterns, or Really Tasty Cake.

Me: "I don't understand. When you knew I was majoring in just International Studies, it was OK. Now I would be majoring in both International Studies and Anthropology, and that's not OK?"
Mom: "My cubicle-mate Cindy's daughter--" (tearful story about how Anthropology BA led to life in box)

My dad is fairly inoffensive, until my mom sniffs out his moderate disapproval and urges him to share his thoughts. Which are, of course, inevitably: "I just don't understand what you plan to do with those degrees. Maybe it's old-fashioned. It used to be that people chose what they wanted to do, and got a degree in that field."

Me: "I want to write." Irritably. Then, actually sounding poignant: "That's all I want to do."

I said I was confused. I tried to explain, probably in vain, that I can't see myself doing one thing and being happy. I said I needed time to figure it out for myself. I think I ended up sounding all existential, but inarticulately existential. Which is a pretty neutered state to be in, when you're trying to bare your soul to your parents. I've never been able to do that properly.

I understand their worries. A lot of people here don't have a situation in which their education is their parents' biggest and riskiest investment. A lot of people here have wealthy parents who can afford to let their kids make their own mistakes and forge their own paths.

That said, probably many more people deal with parents outright refusing them certain decisions, and most, I think, would not send their kids to this school by sacrificing many of their own luxuries. My parents are paying for my education now, and I'm choosing my major. This is scary for everyone.

And so I ate my now-partially-tasteless four-cheese pizza, and wished for half an hour earlier when my biggest concern was finishing "The Golden Compass" on time to see the movie. I would say something about how this is adulthood, but I'm not certain it is. I'm pretty certain it's more of a half-assed welcome party to your twenties.

To completely losing interest in what you thought interested you!
To lying despairingly in your bed while listening to the jubilant drunks next door!
To the bloated, uncontrollable silence in between you and what you want!

I raise a toast. It certainly ain't a movie.

I may have been buried under the weight of my generous patrons' anxiety all afternoon, but a couple of things brought me back down to equilibrium.

Firstly, I made a hearty tomato soup which was enjoyed by my parents and roommate. I did something practical--to feed--and I did something creative--to cook. A beautiful practice. A lovely marriage of two qualities that deserve to go together.

Secondly, but not last of which, I signed up for a yoga class for next quarter. At least three mornings a week will find me focusing on breathing. Three blessed hours in which my single duty is to stretch and breathe. My late-adolescenthood could definitely benefit from this procedure.